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FIRST LOVE

AND OTHER STORIES

IVAn TURGlfiNIEFF

TRANSLATED FROM THE RUSSIAN BY
ISABEL F. HAPGOOD

NEW YORK

CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS

1907

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SI his

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FIRST LOVE

AND OTHER STORIES

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THE NOVELS AND STORIES OF
IVAN TURGENIEFF

Published by GHABLES SGBIBNEB'S SONS
JSaeh Umo, $1.95

BtSDIN, AND A EXNO LEAB OF THE STEPPES

A NOBLSIIAN^ NEST

ON THE EYE

FATHERS AMD CHILDBIN

SMOKE

vntam soil

MEMOntS OF A SPOBTSBIAN

THE JEW, AND OTHEB 8TOBIES

DIABY OF A SUPEBFLUOUS MAN, AND OTHEB
STOBIES

FIBST LOVE, AND OTHEB STOBIES

PHANTOMS, AND OTHEB STOBIES

THE BBIGADIEB, AND OTHEB STOBIES

SPBINQ FBESHETS, AND OTHEB STOBIES

A DESPEBATE OHABAOTEB, AND OTHEB STOBIES

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CONTENTS

PAGE

FIRST LOVE 1

A CORRESPONDENCE 113

THE REGION OF DEAD CALM 169

IT IS ENOUGH 801

THE DOG 828

I ■ :, 383 •

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FIRST LOVE .

TH!E guests had long since departed. The
clock had struck half -past twelve. There
remained in the room onl y the ^ ost. S ergyei Niko -
Uevitdi^and Vladimir Petr6vitch. ^

Thehost rang and ordered the remains of the
supper to be removed.—" So then, the matter is
settled,"— he said, ensconcing himself more
deeply in his arm-chair, and lighting a cigar:—
" each of us is to narrate the history of his first
love. ' T is your turn. Sergvei NikoMevitd h/^

Sergyei Nikolaevitch, a rather corpulent man,
with a plump, fair-skinned face, first looked at the
host, then raised his eyes to the ceiling. — " I had
no first love,"— he began at last:—" I began
straight off with the second."

" How was that? "

" Very simply. I was eighteen years of age
when, for the first time, I dangled after a very
charming young lady ; but I courted her as though
it were no new thing to me: exactly as I courted
others afterward. To tell the truth, I fell in love,
for the first and last time, at the age of six, with
my nurse ;— but that is a very long time ago. The
(Retails of our relations have been erased from my

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FIRST LOVE

memory; but even if I remembered them, wh
would be interested in them? "

"Then what are we to do? "—began the hosr
— " There was nothing very startling about m^
jSrst love either; I never fell in love with any on
before Anna Ivanovna, now my wife; and every
thing ran as though on oil with us; our father
made up the match, we very promptly fell in love
with each other, and entered the bonds of matri-
mony without delay. My story can be told in two
words. I must confess, gentlemen, that in rais-
ing the question of first love, I set my hopes on
you, I will not say old, but yet no longer young
bachelors. Will not you divert us with some-
thing, Vladimir Petrovitch? "

" My first love belongs, as a matter of fact, not
altogether to the ordinary category," — replied,
with a slight hesitation, Vladimir Petrovitch, a
man of forty, whose black hair was sprinkled with
grey.

"Ah I "—said the host and Sergyei Nikolae
vitch in one breath.—" So much the better. . .
TeU us."

" As you like . • . . or no: I will not narrate
I am no great hand at telling a story; it turns oul
dry and short, or long-drawn-out and artificial
But if you will permit me, I will write down al
that I remember in a note^book, and will read ii
aloud to you."

At first the friends would not consent, bu

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Vladimir Petrovitch insisted on having his own
way. A fortnight later they came together
again, and Vladimir Sergyeitch kept his promise.
This is what his note-book contained.

I WAS sixteen years old at the time. The affair
took place in the summer of 1833.

I was living in Moscow, in my parents' house.
They had hired a villa near the Kaluga barrier,
opposite the Neskutchny Park.^ — I was prepar-
ing for the university, but was working very little
and was not in a hurry.

No one restricted my freedom. I had done
whatever I pleased ever since I had parted with
my last French governor, who was utterly unable
to reconcile himself to the thought that he had
fallen " like a bomb " (comme une bomhe) into
Kussia, and with a stubborn expression on his
face, wallowed in bed for whole days at a time.
My father treated me in an indifferently-affec-
tionate way; my mother paid hardly any atten-
tion to me, although she had no children except
me: other cares engrossed her. My father, still a
young man and very handsome, had married her

^ The finest of the public parks in Moscow, situated near the fa-
mous Sparrow Hills, is called " Neskdtchny "— " Not Tiresome," gen-
erally rendered ** Sans Souci." It contains an imperial residence,
the Alexander Palace, used as an official summer home by the Gov-
eitor-General of Moscow.— Tbanslatoe.

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from calculation; she was ten years older than 1
My mother led a melancholy life: she was ino
santly in a state of agitation, jealousy, and wra
—but not in the presence of my father; she y>
very much afraid of him, and he maintained
stern, cold, and distant manner. . . I have ne\ .
seen a man more exquisitely calm, self -confide]
and self -controlled.

I shall never forget the first weeks I spent
the villa. The weather was magnificent; we h
left town the ninth of May, on St. Nicholas's de
I rambled,— sometimes in the garden of our vil
sometimes in Neskiitchny Park, sometimes I.
yond the city barriers; I took with me some bo
or other,— a course of Kaidanoff,— but rare;
opened it, and chiefly recited aloud poems,
which I knew a great many by heart. The blor
was fermenting in me, and my heart was achir
—so sweetly and absurdly; I was always waitii
for something, shrinking at something, and wo
dering at everything, and was all ready for aji
thing at a moment's notice. My fancy was I
ginning to play, and hovered swiftly ever arou]
the selfsame image, as martins hover round
belfry at sunset. But even athwart my tea
and athwart the melancholy, inspired now by
melodious verse, now by the beauty of the eve
ing, there peered forth, like grass in springtin/
the joyous sensation of young, bubbling life.

I had a saddle-horse; I was in the habit of s^(

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FIRST LOVE

dling it myself, and when I rode off alone as far
as possible, in some direction, laimching out at a
gallop and fancying myself a knight at a tourney
—how blithely the wind whistled in my ears 1— Or,
turning my face skyward, I welcomed its beam-
ing light and azure into my open soul.

I remember, at that time, the image of woman,
the phantom of woman's love, almost never en-
tered my mind in clearly-defined outlines; but in"
everything I thought, in everything I felt, there
lay hidden the half -conscious, shamefaced pre-
sentiment of something new, inexpressibly sweet,
feminine . .. ^. . ,

This presentimentr^his expectation permeated
my whole T)eing; I breathed it, it coursed through
my veins in every drop of blood .... it was
fated to be speedily realised.

Our villa consisted of a wooden manor-house
with columns, and two tiny outlying wings; in the
wing to the left a tiny factory of cheap wall-
papers was installed. . . . More than once I
went thither to watch how half a score of gaunt,
dishevelled young fellows in dirty smocks and
with tipsy faces were incessantly galloping about
at the wooden levers which jammed down the
square blocks of the press, and in that manner, by
the weight of their puny bodies, printed the mot-
ley-hued patterns of the wall-papers. The wing
on the right stood empty and was for rent. One
day — three weeks after the ninth of May— the
, 7

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FIRST LOVE

shutters on the windows of this wing were opene
and women's faces made their appearance
them; some family or other had moved into it.
remember how, that same day at dinner, r
mother inquired of the butler who our new neig
bburs were, and on hearing the name of Princt
Zasyekin, said at first, not without some respec
— " Ah! a Princess " . . • • and then she added:
" She must be some poor person! "

" They came in three hired carriages, ma'an
—remarked the butler, as he respectfully pi
sented a dish. " They have no carriage of th<
own, ma'am, and their furniture is of the ve
plainest sort."

" Yes,"— returned my mother, — " and nev<
theless, it is better so."

My father shot a cold glance at her; she su
sided into silence.

As a matter of fact. Princess Zasyekin coul
not be a wealthy woman: the wing she had hirt
was so old and tiny and low-roofed that peop;
in the least well-to-do would not have been wil
ing to inhabit it.— However, I let this go in at or
ear and out at the other. The princely title ha
little effect on me: I had recently been readin
Schiller's " The Brigands."

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i II

j HAD a habit of prowling about our garden every

1 ening, gun in hand, and standing guard against
J e crows. — I had long cherished a hatred for
[ r ose wary, rapacious and crafty birds* On the

ty of which I have been speaking, I went into

' e garden as usual, and, after having fruitlessly

, ade the round of all the alleys (the crows recog-

I sed me from afar, and merely cawed spasmodi-

Jly at a distance) , I accidentally approached the

' )w fence which separated our territory from the

f f arrow strip of garden extending behind the

ght-hand wing and appertaining to it. I was

talking along with drooping head. Suddenly I

. eard voices: I glanced over the fence— and was

etrified A strange spectacle presented

self to me.

A few paces distant from me, on a grass-plot
etween green raspberry-bushes, stood a tall,
raceful y#ung girl, in a striped, pink frock and
^ith a white kerchief on her head; around her
tressed four young men, and she was tapping ^
hem in txun on the brow with those small grey
lowers, the name of which I do not know, but
«rhich are familiar to children ; these little flowers
brm tiny sacs, and burst with a pop when they
ire struck against anything hard. The young
nen offered their foreheads^ to her so willingly,

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FIRST LOVE

and in the girl's movements (I saw her form in i
profile) there was something so bewitching, ca- ^
ressing, mocking, and charming, that I almost
cried aloud in wonder and pleasure ; and I believe
I would have given everything in the world if ^
those lovely little fingers had only consented to
tap me on the brow. My gun slid down on the
grass, I forgot everything, I devoured with my
eyes that slender waist, and the neck and the beau-
tiful arms, and the slightly rufiled fair hair, the
intelligent eyes and those lashes, and the delicate
cheek beneath them. . . •

"Young man, hey there, young manl''—
suddenly spoke up a voice near me:— "Is it
permissible to stare like that at strange young
ladies?"

I trembled all over, I was stupefied Be-
side me, on the other side of the fence, stood a man
with closely-clipped black hair, gazing ironically
at me. At that same moment, the young girl
turned toward me. ... I beheld huge grey eyes
in a mobile, animated face— and this whole face
suddenly began to quiver, and to laugh, and the
white teeth gleamed from it, the brows elevated
themselves in an amusing way. ... I flushed,
picked up my gun from the ground, and, pursued
) by ringing but not malicious laughter, I ran to
my own room, flung myself on the bed, and cov-
ered my face with my hands. My heart was
fairly leaping within me ; I felt very much

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FIRST LOVE

Ikhamed and very merry: I experienced an un-
^^cedented emotion.
w^ If ter I had rested awhile, I brushed my hair,
"^"e itiyself neat and went down-stairs to tea.
^ image of the yoimg girl floated in front of
!e; my heart had ceased to leap, but ached in an
'igreeable sort of way.

What ails thee? "—my father suddenly asked
me:—" hast thou killed a crow? "

I was on the point of telling him all, but re-
frained and only smiled to myself. As I wal pre-
paring for bed, I whirled round thrice on one
oot, I know not why, pomaded my hair, got into
3ed and slept all night like a dead man. Toward
noming I awoke for a moment, raised my head,
BLSt a glance of rapture around me— and fell i
isleep again.

Ill

' How am I to get acquainted with them? " was
ny first thought, as soon a^i I awoke in the morn-
ing. I went out into the garden before tea, but
did not approach too close to the fence, and saw
10 one. After tea I walked several times up and
ftown the street in front of the villa, and cast a
distant glance at the windows. ... I thought I
descried her face behind the ciu1;ains, and re-
dtreated with all possible despatch. " But I must
■get acquainted," — I thought, as I walked with ir-

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FIRST LOVE

jandy stretcj,
litchny P/^

tion." Ij^^ ^

regular strides up and down the sandy
which extends in front of the Neskiitchny
. . . . " but how? that is the questi
called the most trifling incidents of the meer" l.,.
on the previous evening; for some reason, Up |je
manner of laughing at me presented itself to k^.,
with particular clearness. . . . But while I was
fretting thus and constructing various plans. Fate
jwas.jlreadyjgroviding f orjne^^

During my absence, my mother had received a
letter from her new neighbour on grey paper
sealed with brown wax, such as is used only on
postal notices, and on the corks of cheap wine
In this letter, written in illiterate language, anc
with a slovenly chirography, the Princess re-
quested my mother to grant her her protection:
my mother, according to the Princess's words, was
well acquainted with the prominent people or
whom the fortune of herselfand her children de-
pended, as she had some extremely important
law-suits: "I apeal tyou,"— she wrote,— "as a
knoble woman to a knoble woman, and moarover^
it is agriable to me to makeus of this oportunity."
In conclusion, she asked permission of my mother
to call upon her. I f oimd my mother in an un-
pleasant frame of mind: my father was not am
home, and she had no one with whom to take^
counsel. It was impossible not to reply to a
" knoble woman," and to a Princess into the bar
gain; but how to reply perplexed my mother.

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,| FIRST LOVE

^£l| seemed to her ill-judged to write a note
fi French, and my mother was not strong in Rus-
ijan orthography herself —and was aware of the
llliet— and did not wish to compromise herself,
le'he was delighted at my arrival, and immediately
irdered me to go to the Princess and explain to
er verbally that my mother was always ready,
) the extent of her ability, to be of service to Her
Ladiance,* and begged that she would call upon
er about one o'clock.
This imexpec^edly swift fulfilment of my se-
^^\ ret wishes both delighted and frightened me; but
^^ j did not betray the emotion which held posses-
nc ion of me, and preliminarily betook myself to
ny room for the purpose of donning a new neck-
i;loth and coat; at home I went about in a round-
, acket and turn-over collars, although I detested
I hem greatly,
le-j"
^f IV

ite

la
)er

ce-
►n;

rSLi

ler
n-

N the cramped and dirty anteroom of the wing,
vhich I entered with an involuntary trembling of
ny whole body, I was received by a grey-haired
)ld serving-man with a face the hue of dark cop-
)er, pig-like, surly little eyes, and such deep wrin-
^^ des on his forehead as I had never seen before
n my life. He was carrying on a platter the

^ Princes, princesses, counts, and countesses have the title of Siydr
eUtvo (siydm— to shine, to be radiant); generally translated "Illus-
nous Highness" oi: "Serenity."— Translator.

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gnawed spinal bone of a herring, and, pushing to
with his foot the door which led into the adjoining
room, he said abruptly:—" What do you want? "

" Is Princess Zasyekin at home? " — I inquired.

"Vonifaty!"— screamed a quavering female
voice on the other side of the door.

The servant silently turned his back on me,
thereby displaying the badly-worn rear of his
livery with its solitary, rusted, armouried button,
and went away, leaving the platter on the floor.

" Hast thou been to the police-station? "—went
on that same feminine voice. The servant mut-
tered something in reply.—" Hey? .... Some
one has come?"— was the next thing audible.
. . . • " The young gentleman from next door?
—Well, ask him in."

" Please come into the drawing-room, sir,"—
said the servant, making his appearance again
before me, and picking up the platter from the
floor. I adjusted my attire and entered the
" drawing-room."

I foimd myself in a tiny and not altogether
clean room, with shabby furniture which seemed
to have been hastily set in place. At the window,
in an easy-chair with a broken arm, sat a woman
of fifty, with uncovered hair ^ and plain-featured,
clad in an old green gown, and with a variegated

^The custom still prevails in Russia, to a great extent, for all
elderly women to wear caps. In the peasant class it is considered as
extremely indecorous to go ** simple-haired/' as the expression runs.
— Teanslatcb.

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worsted kerchief round her neck. Her small
black eyes fairly bored into me.

I went up to her and made my bow.

" I have the honour of speaking to Princess
Zasyekin? "

" I am Princess Zasyekin: and you are the son
ofMr.B-?"

" Yes, madam. I have come to you with a mes-
sage from my mother."

"Pray be seated. Vonifaty! where are my
keys? Hast thou seen them? "

I communicated to Madame Zasyekin my mo-
ther's answer to her note. She listened to me,
tapping the window-pane with her thick, red
fingers, and when I had finished she riveted her
eyes on me once more.

" Very good; I shall certainly go,"— said she at
last.—" But how young you are still! How old
are you, allow me to ask? "

" Sixteen,"— I replied with involuntary hesita-
tion.

The Princess pulled out of her pocket some
dirty, written documents, raised them up to her
very nose and began to sort them over.

" 'T is a good age,"— she suddenly articulated,
turning and fidgeting in her chair. — " And please
do not stand on ceremony. We are plain folks."

" Too plain,"— I thought, with involuntary
disgust taking in with a glance the whole of her
homely figm-e.

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At that moment, the other door of the drawing-
room was swiftly thrown wide open, and on the
threshold appeared the young girl whom I had
seen in the garden the evening before. She
raised her hand and a smile flitted across her face,

" And here is my daughter,"— said the Prin-
cess, pointing at her with her elbow.— " Zino-
tchka, the son of our neighbour, Mr. B— . What
is your name, permit me to inquire? "

" Vladimir,"— I replied, rising and lisping with
agitation.

" And your patronymic? "

" Petrovitch."

" Yesl I once had an acquaintance, a chief of
police, whose name was Vladimir Petrovitch also.
Vonifaty! don't hunt for the keys; the keys are
in my pocket."

The yoimg girl continued to gaze at me with
the same smile as before, slightly puckering up
her eyes and bending her head a little on one side.

" I have already seen M'sieu Voldemar,"— she'
began. (The silvery tone of her voice coursed
through me like a sweet chill.) — " Will you per-
mit me to call you so? "

" Pray do, madam,"— I lisped. '

"Where was that?"— asked the Princess.

The young Princess did not answer her mother.

" Are you busy now? "—she said, without tak-
ing her eyes off me.

" Not in the least, madam."
16

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" Then will you help me to wind some wool?
Come hither, to me/'

She nodded her head at me and left the draw-
ing-room. I followed her.

In the room which we entered the furniture was
a little better and was arranged with great taste.
—But at that moment I was almost imable to no-
tice anything; I moved as though in a dream and
felt a sort of intense sensation of well-being verg-
ing on stupidity throughout my frame.

The yoimg Princess sat down, produced a knot
of red wool, and pointing me to a chair opposite
her, she carefully imbound the skein and placed
it oh my hands. She did all this in silence, with
a sort of diverting deliberation, and with the same
^;^?:::^ riffia5randjc ^^ on her slightly parted

lips. She began to wind the wool upon a card
doubled together, and suddenly illumined me with
such a clear, swift glance, that I involimtarily
dropped my eyes. When her eyes, which were
* generally half closed, opened to their full extent
her face underwent a complete change ; it was as
though light had inundated it.

" What did you think of me yesterday, M'sieu
Voldemarf — she asked, after a brief pause.—
" You certainly must have condemned me? "

" I . . . . Princess .... I thought nothing
.... how can I "I replied, in confu-
sion.

" Listen,'"— she returned.-" You do not know

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FIRST LOVE

; me yet; I want people always to speak the truth
to me. You are sixteen, I heard, and I am
twenty-one; you see that I am a great deal older
i than you, and therefore you must always speak
the truth to me . . . and obey me,"— she added.
— " Look at me; why don't you look at me? "

I became still more confused; but I raised my
eyes to hers, nevertheless. She smiled, only not
in her former manner, but with a different, an
approving smile.—" Look at me,"— she said, ca-
ressingly lowering her voice:—" I don't like that.
. . . Your face pleases me ; I foresee that we shall
be friends. And do you like me? "—she added
slyly-

" Princess . ..." I was beginning. . . .

" In the first place, call me Zinaida Alexan-
drovna; and in the second place,— what sort of a
habit is it for children "— (she corrected herself)
— " for young men— not to say straight out what
they feel? You do like me, don't you? "

Although it was very pleasant to me to have
her talk so frankly to me, still I was somewhat
nettled. I wanted to show her that she was not
dealing with a small boy, and, assuming as easy
and serious a mien as I could, I said:— "Of
course I like you very much, Zinaida Alexan-
drovna ; I have no desire to conceal the fact."

She shook her head, pausing at intervals.—
" Have you a governor? "—she suddenly in-
quired.

.18

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" No, I have not had a governor this long time
past."

I lied: a month had not yet elapsed since I
had parted with my Frenchman.

" Oh, yes, I see: you are quite grown up."

She slapped me lightly on the fingers.—" Hold
your hands straight!"— And she husied herself
diligently with winding her hall.

I took advantage of the fact that she did not
raise her eyes, and set to scrutinising her, first by
stealth, then more and more boldly. Her face
seemed to me even more charming than on the day
before: everything about it was so delicate, intel-
ligent and lovely. She was sitting with her back
to the window, which was hung with a white
shade; a ray of sunlight making its way through
that shade inundated with a fiood of light her
flufi^y golden hair, her innocent neck, sloping
shoulders, and calm, tender bosom.— I gazed at
her— and how near and dear she became to met
It seemed to me both that I had known her for
a long time and that I had known nothing and
had not lived before she came. . • . She wore a
rather dark, already shabby gown, with an apron;
I believe I would willingly have caressed every
fold of that gown and of that apron. The tips of
her shoes peeped out from imder her gown; I
would have bowed down to those little boots. . .
" And here I sit, in front of her,"— I thought.—
" I have become acquainted with her .... what

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happiness, my God! " I came near bouncing out
of my chair with rapture, but I merely dangled
my feet to and fro a little, like a child who is en-
joying dainties.

I felt as much at my ease as a fish does in water,
and I would have liked never to leave that room
again as long as I lived.

Her eyelids slowly rose, and again her brilliant
eyes beamed caressingly before me, and again she
laughed.

"How you stare at mel'*— she said slowly,
shaking her finger at me.

' I flushed scarlet " She understands all,

she sees all,"— flashed through my head. " And
i how could she fail to see and understand all? "

Suddenly there was a clattering in the next
room, and a sword clanked.

" Zina! "—screamed the old Princess from the
drawing-room. — " Byelovzoroff^ has brought thee
a kitten."

"A kitten!"— cried Zinaida, and springing
headlong from her chair, she flung the ball on my
knees and ran out.

I also rose, and, laying the skein of wool on the
window-sill, went into the drawing-room, and
stopped short in amazement. In the centre of the
room lay a kitten with outstretched paws; Zinaida
was kneeling in front of it, and carefully raising
its snout. By the side of the young Princess, tak-
ing up nearly the entire wall-space between the

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windows, was visible a f air-complexioned, curly-
haired young man, a hussar, with a rosy face and,
protruding eyes.

"How ridiculous!"— Zinaida kept repeating:
— " and its eyes are not grey, but green, and what
big ears it has! Thank you, Viktor Egoritch!
you are very kind."

The hussar, in whom I recognised one of the
young men whom I had seen on the preceding
evening, smiled and bowed, clicking his spurs and
clanking the links of his sword as he did so.

" You were pleased to say yesterday that you
wished to possess a striped kitten with large ears
.... so I have got it, madam. Your word is
my law."— And again he bowed.

The kitten mewed faintly, and began to sniff at
the floor.

"He is hungry!"— cried Zinaida.— " Voni-
faty! Sonya! bring some milk."

The chambermaid, in an old yellow gown and
with a faded kerchief on her head, entered with a
saucer of milk in her hand, and placed it in front
of the kitten. The kitten quivered, blinked, and
began to lap.

"What a rosy tongue it has,"— remarked
Zinaida, bending her head down almost to the
floor, and looking sideways at it, under its very
nose.

The kitten drank its fill, and began to purr, af-
fectedly contracting and relaxing its paws. Zi-

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naida rose to her feet, and turning to the maid,
said indifferently:—" Take it away."

" Your hand— in return for the kitten,"— said
the hussar, displaying his teeth, and bending over
the whole of his huge body, tightly confined in a
new uniform.

" Both hands,"— replied Zinaida, offering him
her hands. While he was kissing them, she gazed
at me over his shoulder.

I stood motionless on one spot, and did not
know whether to laugh or to say something, or to
hold my peace. Suddenly, through the open door
of the anteroom, the figure of our footman,
Feodor, caught my eye. He was making signs
to ine. I mechanically went out to him.

" What dost thou want? "—I asked.

" Your mamma has sent for you,"— he said in
a whisper.—" She is angry because you do not re-
turn with an answer."

" Why, have I been here long? "

" More than an hour."

" More than an hour! "—I repeated involun-
tarily, and returning to the drawing-room, I be-
gan to bow and scrape my foot.

" Where are you going? "—the yoimg Princess
asked me, with a glance at the hussar.

" I must go home, madam. So I am to say," —
I added, addressing the old woman,—" that you
will call upon us at two o'clock."

" Say that, my dear fellow."

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The old Princess hurriedly drew out her snuff-
box, and took a pinch so noisily that I fairly
jumped.—" Say that,"— she repeated, tearfully
blinking and grunting.

I bowed once more, turned and left the room
with the same sensation of awkwardness in my
back which a very young man experiences when
he knows that people are staring after him.

" Look here, M'sieu Voldemar, you must drop
in to see us,"— called Zinaida, and again burst out
laughing.

"What makes her laugh all the time?" I
thought, as I wended my way home accompanied
by Feodor, who said nothing to me, but moved
along disapprovingly behind me. My mother re-
proved me, and inquired, with, surprise, "What
could I have been doing so long at the Prin-
cess's? " I made her no answer, and went off to
my own room. I had suddenly grown very mel-
ancholy. ... I tried not to weep. . • . I was
jealous of the hussar.

The Princess, according to her promise, called
on my mother, and did not please her. I was not
present at their meeting, but at table my mother
narrated to my father that that Princess Zasyekin
seemed to her a femme tres vulgaire; that she had
bored her immensely with her requests that she

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would intervene on her behalf with Prince Ser-
gyei; that she was always having such law-suits
and affairs,— cZ^ vilaines affaires d^argent^— and
that she must be a great rogue. But my mother
added that she had invited her with her daughter
to dine on the following day (on hearing the
words " with her daughter," I dropped my nose
into my plate),— because, notwithstanding, she
was a neighbour, and with a name. Thereupon
my father informed my mother that he now re-
called who the lady was: that in his youth he had
known the late Prince Zasyekin, a capitally-edu-
cated but flighty and captious man; that in so-
ciety he was called ^'^ le Parisien/^ because of his
long residence in Paris; that he had been very
wealthy, but had gambled away all his property
—and, no one knew why, though probably it had
been for the sake of the money,—" although he
might have made a better choice,"— added my
father, with a cold smile,— he had married the
daughter of some clerk in a chancellery, and after
his marriage had gone into speculation, and
ruined himself definitively.

" 'T is a wonder she did not try to borrow
money,"— remarked my mother.

" She is very likely to do it,"— said my father,
calmly.—" Does she speak French? "

" Very badly."

" M-m-m. However, that makes no difference.
24f

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I think thou saidst that thou hadst invited her
daughter; some one assured me that she is a very
charming and well-educated girl/'

"Ah! Then she does not take after her
mother."

" Nor after her father,"— returned my father.
— " He was also well educated, but stupid."

My mother sighed, and became thoughtful.
My father relapsed into silence. I felt very awk-
ward during the course of that conversation.

After dinner I betook myself to the garden,
but without my gun. I had pledged my word to
myself that I would not go near the " Zasyekin
garden " ; but an irresistible force drew me thither,
and not in vain. I had no sooner approached the
fence than I caught sight of Zinaida. This time
she was alone. She was holding a small book in
her hands and strolling slowly along the path.
She did not notice me. I came near letting her
slip past; but suddenly caught myself up and
coughed.

She turned roimd but did not pause, put aside
with one hand the broad blue ribbon of her round
straw hat, looked at me, smiled quietly, and again
riveted her eyes on her book.

I pulled ojff my cap, and after fidgeting about
a while on one spot, I went away with a heavy
heajrt. ''Que suis-je pour elle?"—l thought
(G^d knows why) in French.

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Familiar footsteps resounded behind me; I
glanced romid and beheld my father advancing
toward me with swift, rapid strides.

" Is that the yomig Princess? "—he asked me.

" Yes."

" Dost thou know her? "

" I saw her this morning at the Princess her
mother's."

My father halted and, wheeling abruptly
round on his heels, retraced his steps. As he came
\y pn a level with Zinaida he bowed courteously to
\- Mier. She bowed to him in retiu^n, not without
some surprise on her face, and lowered her bo^k.
I saw that she followed him with her eyes. My
father always dressed very elegantly, originally
and simply; but his figure had never seemed to
me more graceful, never had his grey hat sat more
handsomely on his curls, which were barely begin-
ning to grow thin.

I was on the point of directing my course to-
ward Zinaida, but she did not even look at me,
but raised her book once more and walked awav.

Iher

I SPENT the whole of that evening and the foY low-
ing day in a sort of gloomy stupor. I remeij ^iber
that I made an effort to work, and took up j^ncegai-
danoff; but in vain did the large-printed i lines

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and pages of the famous text-book flit before my
eyes. Ten times in succession I read the words:
"Julius Caesar was distinguished for military
daring," without understanding a word, and I
flung aside my book. Before dinner I pomaded
my hair again, and again donned my frock-coat
and neckerchief.

" What 's that for? "—inquired my mother.—
" Thou art not a student yet, and God knows whe-
ther thou wilt pass thy examination. And thy
round- jacket was made not very long ago. Thou
must not discard it! "

" There are to be guests,"— I whispered, almost
in despair.

"What nonsense! What sort of guests are
they? "

I was compelled to submit. I exchanged my
coat for my round- jacket, but did not remove my
neckerchief. The Princess and her daughter
made their appearance half an hour before din-
ner; the old woman had thrown a yellow shawl
over her green gown, with which I was familiar,
and had donned an old-fashioned mob-cap with
ribbons of a fiery hue. She immediately began to
talk about her notes of hand, to sigh and to be-
wail her poverty, and to " importune," but did
not stand in the least upon ceremony; and she
took snufi* noisily and fidgeted and wriggled in
her chair as before. It never seemed to enter her
head that she was a Princess. On the other hand,

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Zinaida bore herself very stiffly, almost haughtily,
like a real young Princess. Cold impassivity and
dignity had made their appearance on her coun-
tenance, and I did not recognise her,— did not
recognise her looks or her smile, although in this
new aspect she seemed to me very beautiful. She
wore a thin barege gown with pale-blue figures;
her hair fell in long curls along her cheeks, in the
English fashion: this coijffure suited the cold ex-
pression of her face.

My father sat beside her during dinner, and
with the exquisite and imperturbable coiuiesy
] which was characteristic of him, showed attention
to his neighbour. He glanced at her from time to
time, and she glanced at him now and then, but
jin such a strange, almost hostile, manner.
Their conversation proceeded in French;— I
remember that I was surprised at the purity of
Zinaida's accent. The old Princess, as before,
did not restrain herself in the slightest degree dur-
ing dinner, but ate a great deal and praised the
food. My mother evidently found her wearisome,
and answered her with a sort of sad indifference;
. my father contracted his brows in a slight frown
from time to time. My mother did not like Zi-
naida either.

" She 's a haughty young sprig,"— she said the
next day. — " And when one comes to think t)f it,
what is there for her to be proud of^—avec sa
mine de grisette! ^^

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{JIRST LOVE

" Evidently, thou hast not seen any grisettes,"
—my father remarked to her.

" Of com-se I have n't, God he thanked!

Only^how art thou capahle of judging of them? ''

Zinaida paid absolutely no attention whatever
to me. Soon after dinner the old Princess began
to take her leave.

" I shall rely upon your protection, Marya
Nikolaevna and Piotr Vasilitch,"— she said, in
a sing-song tone, to my father and mother.—
"What is to be done! I have seen prosperous
days, but they are gone. Here am I a Radiance,"
—she added, with an unpleasant laugh,— "but
what 's the good of an honour when you Ve no-
thing to eat? "—My father bowed respectfully to
her and escorted her to the door of the anteroom.
I was standing there in my round- jacket, and
staring at the floor, as though condenmed to
death. Zinaida's behaviour toward me had de-
finitively annihilated me. What, then, was my
amazement when, as she passed me, she whispered
to me hastily, and with her former affectionate
expression in her eyes:—" Come to us at eight
o'clock, do you hear? without fail. ..." I merely
threw my hands apart in amazement;— but she
was already retreating, having thrown a white
scarf over her head.

2ft

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VII

Peecisely at eight o'clock I entered the tiny
wing inhabited by the Princess, clad in my coat,
and with my hair brushed up into a crest on top
of my head. The old servant glared surlily at
me, and rose reluctantly from his bench. Merry
voices resounded in the drawing-room. I opened
the door and retreated a pace in astonishment. In
the middle of the room, on a chair, stood the
young Princess, holding a man's hat in front of
her; around the chair thronged five men. They
were trying to dip their hands into the hat, but she
kept raising it on high and shaking it violently.
On catching sight of me she exclaimed:—

" Stay, stay! Here 's a new guest; he must be
given a ticket,"— and springing lightly from the
chair, she seized me by the lapel of my coat. —
" Come along,"— said she;—" why do you stand
there? Messieurs, allow me to make you ac-
quainted: this is Monsieiu* Voldemar, the son of
our neighbour. And this,"— she added, turning
to me, and pointing to the visitors in turn,—" is
Count Malevsky, Doctor Liishin, the poet Mai-
ddnoff , retired Captain Nirmatzky, and Byelov-
zoroff the hussar, whom you have already seen.
I beg that you will love and favour each other."

I was so confused that I did not even bow to
any one; in Doctor Liishin I recognised that same

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FIRST LOVE

swarthy gentleman who had so ruthlessly put me
to shame in the garden; the others were strangers
tome.

" Count! "—pursued Zinaida,— " write a ticket
for M'sieu Voldemar."

" That is unjust,"— returned the Count, with a
slight accent,— a very handsome and foppishly-
attired man, with a dark complexion, expressive
brown eyes, a thin, white little nose, and a slender
moustache over his tiny mouth.— "He has not
been playing at forfeits with us."

" 'T is unjust,"— repeated Byelovzorojff and
the gentleman who had been alluded to as the re-
tired Captain,— a man of forty, horribly pock-
marked, curly-haired as a negro, round-shoul-
dered, bow-legged, and dressed in a military coat
without epaulets, worn open on the breast.

"Write a ticket, I tell you,"— repeated the
Princess.— " What sort of a rebellion is this?
M'sieu Voldemar is with us for the first time, and
to-day no law applies to him. No grumbling-
write; I will have it so."

The Count shrugged his shoulders, but submis-
sively bowing his head, he took a pen in his white,
ring-decked hand, tore off a scrap of paper and
began to write on it.

" Permit me at least to explain to M'sieu
Voldemar what it is all about,"— began Liishin,
in a bantering tone;—" otherwise he will be ut-
terly at a Ibss. You see, young man, we are play-

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FIRST LOVE

ing at forfeits; the Princess must pay a fine, and
the one who draws out the lucky ticket must kiss
her hand. Do you understand what I have told
you?"

I merely glanced at him and continued to stand
as though in a fog, while the Princess again
sprang upon the chair and again began to shake
the hat. All reached up to her— I among the rest.

" Maidanoff ,''— said the Princess to the tall
young man with a gaunt face, tiny mole-like eyes
and extremely long, black hair,—" you, as a poet,
ought to be magnanimous and surrender your
ticket to M'sieu Voldemar, so that he may have
two chances instead of one."

But Maidanojff shook his head in refusal and
tossed his hair. I put in my hand into the hat
after all the rest, drew out and unfolded a ticket.
. . . O Lord! what were my sensations when I
beheld on it, "Kiss!"

" Kiss! "—I cried involuntarily.

" Bravo! He has won,"— chimed in the Prin-
cess.—" How delighted I am! "—She descended
from the chair, and gazed into my eyes so clearly
and sweetly that my heart fairly laughed witii
joy.— "And are you glad?"— she asked me.

"!?"...! stammered.

" Sell me your ticket,"— suddenly blurted out
Byelovzoroff, right in my ear.—" I '11 give you
one hundred rubles for it."

I replied to the hussar by such a wrathful look
82

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that Zinaida clapped her hands, and Lushin cried :
— " That 's a gallant fellow! "

" But,"— he went on,—" in my capacity of
master of ceremonies, I am bound to see that all
the regulations are carried out. M'sieu Volde-
mar, get down on one knee. That is our rule."

Zinaida stood before me with her head bent a
little to one side, as though the better to scrutinise
me, and offered me her hand with dignity.
Things grew dim before my eyes; I tried to get
down on one knee, pltmiped down on both knees,
and applied my lips to Zinaida's fingers in so awk-
ward a manner that I scratched the tip of my
nose slightly on her nails.

" Good! "—shouted Lushin, and helped me to
rise.

The game of forfeits continued. Zinaida
placed me beside her. What penalties they did
invent! Among other things, she had to imper-
sonate a " statue "—and she selected as a pedestal
the monstrously homely Nirmatzky, ordering
him to lie flat on the floor, and to tuck his face into
his breast. The laughter did not cease for a sin-
gle moment. All this noise and uproar, this un-
ceremonious, almost tumultuous merriment, these
unprecedented relations with strangers, fairly
flew to my head; for I was a boy who had been
A reared soberly, and in solitude, and had grown up
yn a stately home of gentry. I became simply in-
toxicated, as though with wine. I began to shout

^ ^^itm.-

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with laughter and chatter more loudly than the
rest, so that even the old Princess, who was sitting
in the adjoining room with some sort of petti-
f dgger from the tversky Gate * who had been
summoned for a conference, came out to take a
look at me. But I felt so happy that, as the say-
ing is, I didn't care a farthing for anybody's
ridicule, or anybody's oblique glances.

Zinaida continued to display a preference for
me and never let me leave her side. In one forfeit
I was made to sit by her, covered up with one
and the same silk kerchief: I was boimd to tell
her my secret. I remember how our two heads
foimd themselves suddenly in choking, semi-
transparent, fragrant gloom; how near and
softly her eyes sparkled in that gloom, and how
hotly her parted lips breathed ; and her teeth were
visible, and the tips of her hair tickled and burned
me. I maintained silence. She smiled mysteri-
ously and slyly, and at last whispered to me:
" Well, what is it? " But I merely flushed and
laughed, and turned away, and could hardly draw
my breath. We got tired of forfeits, and began
to play " string." Good heavens! what rapture
I felt when, forgetting myself with gaping, I re-
ceived from her a strong, sharp rap on my fingers ;
and how afterward I tried to pretend that I was

1 The famous gate from the "White town " into the " China town,**
in Moscow, where there is a reno;wned holy picture of the Iberian
Virgin, in a chapeL Evidently the lawyers' quarter was in this vi-
cinity. — Translator.

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yawning with inattention, but she mocked at me
and did not touch my hands, which were await-
ing the blow!

But what a lot of other pranks we played that
same evening! We played on the piano, and
sang, and danced, and represented a gipsy camp.
We dressed Nirmatzky up like a bear, and
fed him with water and salt. Count Malev-
sky showed us several card tricks, and ended by
stacking the cards and dealing himself all the
trumps at whist; upon which Lushin "had the
honour of congratulating him." Maidanojff de-
claimed to us fragments from his poem, " The
Murderer " (this occurred in the very thick of
romanticism) , which he intended to publish in a
black binding, with the title in letters of the colour
of blood. We stole his hat from the knees of the
pettifogger from the Iversky [Gate, and made
him dance the kazak dance by way of redeeming
it. We dressed old Vonifpty up in a mob-cap, and .
the young Princess put on a man's hat. ... It is
impossible to recount all we did. Byelovzoroff
alone remained most of the time in a corner, an-
gry and frowning. . . . Sometimes his eyes be-
came suffused with blood, he grew scailet all over
and seemed to be on the very point of swooping
down upon all of us and scattering us on all sides,
like chips; but the Princess glanced at him, men-
aced him with her finger> and again he retired
into his comer.

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We were completely exhausted at last. The
old Princess was equal to anything, as she put it,
—no shouts disconcerted her,— but she felt tired
and wished to rest. At midnight supper was
served, consisting of a bit of old, dry cheese and a
few cold patties filled with minced ham, which
seemed to us more savoury than any pasty; there
was only one bottle of wine, and that was rather
queer:— dark, with a swollen neck, and the wine
in it left an after-taste of pinkish dye ; however, no
one drank it. Weary and happy to exhaustion, I
emerged from the wingij, thnndpr-stftrm isfemH
to be brewing; the black, storm-douds grew
laf ger and crept across the sky, visibly altering
their smoky outlines, A light breeze was uneasily
quiveritig in the dark trees, and somewhere be-
yond the horizon the thunder was growling an-
grily and dully, as though to itself.

I made my way through the back door to my
room. My nurse-valet was sleeping on the floor
and I was obliged to step over him; he woke up,
saw me, and reported that my mother was an-
gry with me, and had wanted to send after me
again, but that my father had restrained her. I
never went to bed without having bidden my mo-
ther good night and begged her blessing. There
was no help for it I I told my valet that I would
imdress myself and go to bed imaided, — and ex-
tinguished the candle. But I did not imdress and
I did not go to bed.

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I seated myself on a chair and sat there for a
long time, as though enchanted. That which I

felt was so new and so sweet I sat there,

hardly looking aromid me and without moving,
breathing slowly, and only laughing silently now,
as I recalled, now inwardly turning cold at the
thought that I was in love, that here it was, that
love. Zinaida's face floated softly before me in
the darkness— floated, but did not float away; her
lips still smiled as mysteriously as ever, her eyes
gazed somewhat askance at me, interrogatively,
thoughtfully and tenderly .... as at the mo-
ment when I had parted from her. At last I rose
on tiptoe, stepped to my bed and cautiously, with-
out midressing, laid my head on the pillow, as
though endeavouring by the sharp movement to
frighten off that wherewith I was filled to over-
flowing. ... /

I lay down, but did not even close an eye. I
speedily perceived that certain faint reflections

kept constantly falling into my room I

raised myself and looked out of the window. Its
frame was distinctly defined from the mysteri-
ously and confusedly whitened panes. " 'T is the
thunder-storm,"— I thought,— and so, in fact,
there was a thunder-storm ; but it had passed very
far away, so that even the claps of thunder were
not audible; only in the sky long, indistinct,
branching flashes of lightning, as it were, were
uninterruptedly flashing up. They were not

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FIRST LOVE I

flashing up so much as they were quivering and!
twitching, like the wing of a dying bird, I rose,
went to the window, and stood there until morn-
ing. • • . The lightning-flashes never ceased fori
a moment; it was what is called a pitch-black
night. I gazed at the dumb, sandy plain, at the
dark mass of the Neskiitchny Park, at the yellow-
ish fa9ades of the distant buildings, which also
seemed to be trembling at every faint flash. . . .
I gazed, and could not tear myself away; those
dumb lightning-flashes, those restrained gleams,
seemed to be responding to the dumb and secret
outbiu'sts which were flaring up within me
also. Morning began to break; the dawn started
forth in scarlet patches. With the approach of
the sun the lightning-flashes grew paler and
paler; they quivered more and more infrequently,
and vanished at last, drowned in the sober-
ing and unequivocal light of the breaking
day.

And my lightning-flashes vanished within me
also. I felt great fatigue and tranquillity . . • but
Zinaida's image continued to hover triumphantly
over my soul. Only it, that image, seemed calm;
like a flying swan from the marshy sedges, it
separated itself from the other ignoble figures
which siu'rounded it, and as I fell asleep, I bowed
down before it for the last time in farewell and
confiding adoration. . . .

Oh, gentle emotions, soft soimds, kindness anc
38

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calming of the deeply-moved soul, melting joy of
the first feelings of love, — ^where are ye, where
are ye?

VIII

On the following morning, when I went down-
stairs to tea, my mother scolded me,— although
less than I had anticipated,— and made me nar-
rate how I had spent the preceding evening. I
answered her in few words, omitting many par-
ticulars and endeavouring to impart to my narra-
tive the most innocent of aspects.

" Nevertheless, they are not people comme il
faut/*— remarked my mother;— "and I do not
wish thee to run after them, instead of preparing
thyself for the examination, and occupying thy-
self."

As I knew that my mother's anxiety was con-
fined to these few words, I did not consider it
necessary to make her any reply; but after tea my
father linked his arm in mine, and betaking him-
self to the garden with me, made me tell him
everything I had done and seen at the Zasyekins'.

My father possessed a strange influence over
me, and our relations were strange. He paid
hardly any attention to my education, but he
never wounded me; he respected my liberty— he
was even, if I may so express it, courteous to me
j9ilte he did not allow me to get close to him.
/ 39

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I I loved him, I admired him; he seemed to me a

I model man; and great heavens! how passionately

i attached to him I should have been, had I not eon-

\ stantly felt his hand warding me off! On the

f other hand, when he wished, he miderstood how

, to evoke in me, instantaneously, with one word,

one movement, imbounded confidence in him. My

I soul opened, I chatted with him as with an intelli-

i gent friend, as with an indulgent preceptor ....

\ then, with equal suddenness, he abandoned me,

. and again his hand repulsed me, caressingly and

softly, but repulsed nevertheless.

Sometimes a fit of mirth came over him, and
then he was ready to frolic and play with me
like a boy (he was fond of every sort of ener-
getic bodily exercise) ; once— only once— did he
caress me with so much tenderness that I came
near bursting into tears. . . . But his mirth and
tenderness also vanished without leaving a trace,
and what had taken place between us gave me no
hopes for the future; it was just as though I had
seen it all in a dream. I used to stand and scru-
tinise his clever, handsome, brilliant face ....
and my heart would begin to quiver, and my
whole being would yearn toward him, .... and he
would seem to feel what was going on within me,
and would pat me on the cheek in passing— and
either go away, or begin to occupy himself with
something, or suddenly freeze all over,— as he
alone knew how to freeze,— and Pwottid iE^gfidi-

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ately shrivel up and grow frigid also. His rare
fits of affection for me were never called forth
by my speechless but intelligible entreaties; they
always came upon him without warning. When
meditating, in after years, upon my father's char-
acter, I came to the conclusion that he did not
care for me or for family life ; he loved something
different, and enjoyed that other thing to the
full. " Seize what thou canst thyself, and do not
give thyself into any one's power; the whole art o f
life consists in belonging to one's self,"— he said
to me once. On another occasion T, in my ca-
pacity of a young democrat, launched out in his
presence into arguments about liberty (he was
what I called " kind " that day; at such times one
could say whatever one liked to him).— "Lib-
erty,"— he repeated,—" but dost thou know what
can give a man liberty? "

"What?"

"Will, his own will, and the power which it
gives is better than liberty. Learn to will, and
thou wilt be free, and wilt command."

My father wished, first of all and most of all,
to enjoy life— and he did enjoy life Per-
haps he had a presentiment that he was not fated
long to take advantage of the " art " of living: he
died at the age of forty-two.

I described to my father in detail my visit to
the Zasyekins. He listened to me half -atten-
tively, half -abstractedly, as he sat on the bench

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and drew figures on the sand with the tip of his
riding-whip. Now and then he laughed, glanced
at me in a brilliant, amused sort of way, and
spurred me on by brief questions and exclama-
tions. At first I could not bring myself even to
utter Zinaida's name, but I could not hold out,
and began to laud her. My father still continued
to laugh. Then he became thoughtful, dropped
his eyes and rose to his feet.

I recalled the fact that, as he came out of the
house, he had given orders that his horse should
be saddled. He was a capital rider, and knew
much better how to tame the wildest horses than
did Mr. Rarey.

" Shall I ride with thee, papa? "—I asked him.

" No,"— he replied, and his face assiuned
its habitual indifferently-caressing expression. —
" Go alone, if thou wishest; but tell the coachman
that I shall not go."

He turned his back on me and walked swiftly

away. I followed him with my eyes, until he dis-

^/ appeared beyond the gate, I saw his hat moving

/ along the fence; he went into the Zasyekins'

; house.

He remained with them no more than an hour,
but immediately thereafter went off to town and
did not return home until evening.

After dinner I went to the Zasyekins' myself.

I found no one in the drawing-room but the old

, Princess. When she saw me, she scratched her

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head under her cap with tlie end of her knitting-
needle, and suddenly asked me: would I copy a
petition for her?

" With pleasure,"— I replied, and sat down on
the edge of a chair.

''' Only look out, and see that you make the let-
ters ai' large as possible,"— said the Princess,
handing me a sheet of paper scrawled over in a
slovenly manner: — " and couldn't you do it to-
day, my dear fellow? "

" I will copy it this very day, madam."

The door of the adjoining room opened a mere \
crack and Zinaida's face showed itself in the aper- \
ture,— pale, thoughtful, with hair thrown care-
lessly back. She stared at me with her large, cold
eyes, and softly shut the door.

"Zina,— hey there, Zinal"— said the old wo-
man. Zinaida did not answer. I carried away
the old woman's petition, and sat over it the whole
evening. _«.

[y " passira^ began with that day. I remember
5enf elt something of that which a man
must feel when he enters the service: I had al- »
ready ceased to be a young lad; I was in love. I
have said that my passion dated from that day; I
might have added that my sufferings also dated
from that day. I languished when absent from -
Zinaida ; my mind would not work, everything

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fell from my hands ; I thought intently of her for
days together. • . . I languished . . • . but in
her presence I was no more at ease. I was jeal-
ous, I recognised my insignificance, I stupidly
sulked and stupidly fawned; and, neverthelrv^an
irresistible force drew me to her, and every time I
stepped across the threshold of her room, jit was
with an involuntary thrill of happiness. 2;yinaida
immediately divined that I had fallen in lov.^. with
her, and I never thought of concealing the l^^^ct;
she mocked at my passion, played tricks on me,
petted and tormented me. It is sweet to be the
sole source, the autocratic and irresponsible cause
of the greatest joys and the profoundest woe to
another person, and I was like soft wax in Zi-
naida's hands. However, I was not the only one
who was in love with her; all the men who were
in the habit of visiting her house were crazy over
her, and she kept them all in a leash at her feet.
It amused her to arouse in them now hopes, now
fears, to twist them about at her caprice (she
called it, "knocking people against one an-
other"),— and they never thought of resisting,
and willingly submitted to her. In all her viva-
cious and beautiful being there was a certain pe-
culiarly bewitching mixture of guilef ulness and
heedlessness, of artificiality and simplicity, of
tranquillity and playfulness; over everything she
did or said, over her every movement, hovered a
light, delicate charm, and an original, sparkling

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force made itself felt in everything. And her
face was incessantly changing and sparkling
also; it expressed almost simultaneously derision,
pensiveness, and passion. The most varied emo-
tions, light, fleeting as the shadows of the clouds
on a sunny, windy day, kept flitting over her eyes
and lips.

Every one of her adorers was necessary to her.
Byelovzoroff^, whom she sometimes called " my
wild beast," and sometimes simply " my own,"
would gladly have flung himself into the fire for
her; without trusting to his mental capacities and
other merits, he kept proposing that he should
marry her, and hinting that the others were
merely talking idly. Maidanoff^ responded to the
poetical chords of her soul: a rajhcr cold mnn^ nr^
nearly all writers are, he assured her with intense
force— and perhaps himself also— that he adored
her. He sang her praises in interminable verses
and read them to her with an unnatural and a gen-
uine sort of enthusiasm. And she was interested in
him and jeered lightly at him; she did not believe
in him greatly, and after listening to his eff^u-
sions she made him read Pushkin, in order, as she
said, to piu'ify the air. Lushin, the sneering doc-
tor, who was cynical in speech, knew her best of
all and loved her best of all, although he abused
her to her face and behind her back. She re-i
spected him, but would not let him go, and some-
times, with a peculiar, malicious pleasure, made

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him feel that he was in her hands. " I am a co-
quette, I am heartless, I have the nature of an
actress," she said to him one day in my presence ;
" and 't is well! So give me your hand and I will
stick a pin into it, and you will feel ashamed be-
fore this young man, and it will hurt you ; but nev-
ertheless, Mr. Upright Man, you will be so good
as to laugh." Liishin flushed crimson, turned
away and bit his lips, but ended by putting out
his hand. She pricked it, and he actually did
break out laughing .... and she laughed also,
thrusting the pin in pretty deeply and gazing into
his eyes while he vainly endeavoured to glance
aside. ...

I understood least of all the relations existing
between Zinaida and Count Malevsky. That he
was handsome, adroit, and clever even I felt, but
the presence in him of some false, dubious ele-

, ment, was palpable even to me, a lad of sixteen,
and I was amazed that Zinaida did not notice it.
But perhaps she did detect that false element and
it did not repel her. An irregular education,

1 strange acquaintances, the constant presence of
her mother, the poverty and disorder in the house
— all this, beginning with the very freedom which
the young girl enjoyed, together with the con-
sciousness of her own superiority to the people
who surrounded her, had developed in her a cer-
tain half -scornful carelessness and lack of exac-
tion. No matter what happened— whether Voni-

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f aty came to report that there was no sugar, or
some wretched bit of gossip came to light, or the
visitors got into a quarrel among themselves, she
merely shook her curls, and said: "Nonsense!"
— and grieved very little over it.

On the contrary, all my blood would begin to
seethe when Malevsky would approach her,
swaying his body cunningly like a fox, lean ele-
gantly over the back of her chair and begin to
whisper in her ear with a conceited and challeng-
ing smile, while she would fold her arms on her
breast, gaze attentively at him and smile also,
shaking her head the while.

" What possesses you to receive Malevsky? ''—
I asked her one day.

" Why, he has such handsome eyes,'*— she re-
plied. — " But that is no business of yours."

" You are not to think that I am in love with
him,"— she said to me on another occasion.— ,
" No ; I cannot love people upon whom I am
forced to look down. I must have some one who \
can subdue me. . . . And I shall not hit upon
such an one, for God is merciful! I shall not
spare any one who falls into my paws— no, no!"
" Do you mean to say that you will never fall
in love?"

" And how about you? Don't I love you? "—
she said, tapping me on the nose with the tip of
her glove.
Yes, Zinaida made great fim of me. For the

4.7

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space of three weeks I saw her every day; and
what was there that she did not do to me! She
came to us rarely, but I did uot regret that ; in our
house she was converted into a yoimg lady, a Prin-
cess,— and I avoided her. I was afraid of betray-
ing myself to my mother; she was not at all well
disposed toward Zinaida, and kept a disagreeable
watch on us. I was not so much afraid of my fa-
ther; he did not appear to notice me, and talked
little with her, but that little in a peculiarly clever
and significant manner. I ceased to work, to
read; I even ceased to stroll about the environs
and to ride on horseback. Like a beetle tied by
the leg, I hovered incessantly around the beloved
wing; I believe I would have liked to remain there

forever but that was impossible. My

mother grumbled at me, and sometimes Zinaida
herself drove me out. On such occasions I shut
myself up in my own room, or walked off to the
very end of the garden, climbed upon the sound
remnant of a tall stone hothouse, and dangling
my legs over the wall, I sat there for hours and
stared,— stared without seeing anything. White
butterflies lazily flitted among the nettles beside
me; an audacious sparrow perched not far off on
the half -demolished red bricks and twittered in an
irritating manner, incessantly twisting his whole
body about and spreading out his tail; the still
distrustful crows now and then emitted a caw, as
they sat high, high above me on the naked crest

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of a birch-tree ; the sun and the wind played softly
through its sparse branches; the chiming of the
bells, calm and melancholy, at the Don Monastery
was wafted to me now and then,— and I sat on,
gazing and listening, and became filled with a cer-
tain nameless sensation which embraced every-
thing: sadness and joy, and a presentiment of the
future, and the desire and the fear of life. But
I u^iderstpod nothing at the time of all that which
was fermenting within me, or I would have called "
it all by oiie name, the name of Zinaida.

But ZihaMa contimied^te-pkkjMsith me as a cat
plays with a mouse. Now she coquetted with me,
and I grew agitated and melted with emotion;
now she repulsed me, and I dared not approach
her, dared not look at her.

I remember that she was very cold toward me
for several days in succession and I thoroughly
quailed, and when I timidly ran to the wing to
see them, I tried to keep near the old Princess, de-
spite the fact that she was scolding and screaming
a great deal just at that time: her affairs con-
nected with her notes of hand were going badly,
and she had also had two scenes with the police-
captain of the precinct.

One day I was walking through the garden,
past the familiar fence, when I caught sight of
Zinaida. Propped up on both arms, she was sit-
ting motionless on the grass. I tried to withdraw
cautiously, but she suddenly raised her head and

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made an imperious sign to me. I became petrified
on the spot; I did not understand her the first
time. She repeated her sign. I inunediately
sprang over the fence and ran joyfully to her;
but she stopped me with a look and pointed to the
path a couple of paces from her. In my confu-
sion, not knowing what to do, I knelt down on the
edge of the path. She was so pale, such bitter
grief, such profound weariness were revealed in
her every feature, that my heart contracted within
me, and I involuntarily murmured: " What is the
matter with you? "

Zinaida put out her hand, plucked a blade of
grass, bit it, and tossed it away as far as she could.
i " Do you love me very much? '*— she inquired
I suddenly.-" Yes?"

I I made no answer,— and what answer was there
\ for me to make?

" Yes,"— she repeated, gazing at me as before.

— " It is so. They are the same eyes,"— she

i added, becoming pensive, and covering her face

j with her hands.—" Everything has become repul-

j sive to me,"— she whispered;—" I would like to

■ go to the end of the world; I cannot endure this,

; I cannot reconcile myself. . . . And what is in

! store for me? ... . Akh, I am heavy at heart

I . • . . my God, how heavy at heart! "

" Why? "—I timidly inquired.

Zinaida did not answer me and merely

shrugged her shoulders. I continued to kneel and

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FIRST LOVE

to gaze at her with profound melancholy. Every
word of hers fairly cut me to the heart. At that
moment, I think I would willingly have given my
life to keep her from grieving. I gazed at her,
and nevertheless, not understanding why she was
heavy at heart, I vividly pictured to myself how,
in a fit of uncontrollable sorrow, she had suddenly
gone into the garden, and had fallen on the earth,
as though she had been mowed down. All around
was bright and green ; the breeze was rustling in
the foliage of the trees, now and then rocking a
branch of raspberry over Zinaida's head. Doves
were cooing somewhere and the bees were hum-
ming as they flew low over the scanty grass.
Overhead the sky shone blue,— but I was so

sad

" Recite some poetry to me,"— said Zinaida in
a low voice, leaning on her elbow.—" I like to
hear you recite verses. You make them go in a
sing-song, but that does not matter, it is youth-
ful. Recite to me: ' On the Hills of Georgia.'—
Only, sit down first."

I sat down and recited, " On the Hills of
Georgia."
\ " ' That it is impossible not to love,' "—repeated
j Zinaida.—" That is why poetry is so nice; it says
to us that which does not exist, and which is not
only better than what does exist, but even more
like the truth. ..." * That it is impossible not to
love' ?— I would like to, but cannot! "—Again she

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FIRST LOVE

fell silent for a space, then suddenly started and
rose to her feet. — " Come along. Maidanoff is
sitting with mamma; he brought his poem to me,
but I left him. He also is embittered now ....
how can it be helped? Some day you will find out
.... but you must not be angry with me! "

Zinaida hastily squeezed my hand, and ran on
ahead. We returned to the wing. Maidanoff set
to reading us his poem of " The Murderer,"
which had only just been printed, but I did not
listen. He shrieked out his four-footed iambics
in a sing-song voice; the rhymes alternated and
jingled like sleigh-bells, hollow and loud; but I
kept staring all the while at Zinaida, and striving
to understand the meaning of her strange words.

**0r, perchance, a secret rival
Has unexpectedly subjugated thee? "

suddenly exclaimed Maidanoff through his nose
—and my eyes and Zinaida's met. She dropped
hers and blushed faintly. I saw that she was
blushing, and turned cold with fright. I had been
jealous before, but only at that moment did the
thought that she had fallen in love flash through

my mind. " My God I She is in love I "

My real tortures began from that moment. I
cudgelled my brains, I pondered and pondered
again, and watched Zinaida importunately, but

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FIRST LOVE

secretly, as far as possible. A change had taken
place in her, that was evident. She took to going
off alone to walk, and walked a long while.
Sometimes she did not show herself to her visi-
tors; she sat for hours together in her cham-
ber. This had not been her habit hitherto.
Suddenly I became— or it seemed to me that I
became— extremely penetrating. " Is it he? Or
is it not he? "—I asked myself, as in trepidation
I mentally ran from one of her admirers to an-
other. Count Malevsky (although I felt ashamed ! v
to admit it for Zinaida's sake) privately seemed '^
to me more dangerous than the others.

My powers of observation extended no further
than the end of my own nose, and my dissimula-
tion probably failed to deceive any one; at all
events. Doctor Lushin speedily saw through me.
Moreover, he also had undergone a change of late ;
he had grown thin, he laughed as frequently as
ever, but somehow it was in a duller, more spite-
ful, a briefer way;— an involuntary, nervous irri-
tability had replaced his former light irony and
feigned cynicism.

" Why are you forever tagging on here, young
man? "—he said to me one day, when he was left
alone with me in the Zasyekins' drawing-room.
(The young Princess had not yet returned from
her stroll and the shrill voice of the old Princess
was resounding in the upper story; she was
wrangling with her maid.) — " You ought to be

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studying your lessons, working while you are
young;— but instead of that, what are you do-
mg?

" You cannot tell whether I work at home," — I .
retorted not without arrogance, but also not with-
out confusion.

"Much work you do! That's not what you
have in yoiu* head. Well, I will not dispute . . .
at your age, that is in the natural order of things.
But yoiu* choice is far from a happy one. Can't
you see what sort of a house this is? "

" I do not understand you,"— I remarked.

"You don't understand me? So much the
worse for you. I regard it as my duty to warn
you. Fellows like me, old bachelors, may sit here :
what harm will it do us? We are a hardened lot.
You can't pierce our hide, but your skin is still
tender; the air here is injurious for you,— believe
me, you may become infected."

"How so?"

"Because you may. Are you healthy now?
Are you in a normal condition? Is what you are
feeling useful to you, good for you? "

"But what am I feeling? "—said Ij— and in
my secret soul I admitted that the doctor was
right.

" Eh, young man, young man,"— piu'sued the
doctor, with an expression as though something
extremely insulting to me were contained in those
two words; — "there 's no use in yoiu* dissimulat-

54 -^

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FIRST LOVE

ing, for what you have in your soul you still show
in your face, thank God! But what 's the use of
arguing? I would not come hither myself, if . . . ."
■ (the doctor set his teeth) . . . • " if I were not such
an eccentric fellow. Only this is what amazes me
— how you, with your intelligence, can fail to see
what is going on around you."

" But what is going on? "—I interposed, prick-
ing up my ears.

The doctor looked at me with a sort of sneer-
ing compassion.

"A nice person I am,"— said he, as though
speaking to himself.— " What possessed me to
say that to him. In a word,"— he added, raising
his voice,— " I repeat to you: the atmosphere
here is not good for you. You find it pleasant
here, and no wonder! And the scent of a hot-
house is pleasant also— but one cannot live in
it! Hey! hearken to me,— set to work again on
Kaidanoff."

The old Princess entered and began to com-
plain to the doctor of toothache. Then Zinaida
made her appearance.

" Here,"— added the old Princess,— " scold
her, doctor, do. She drinks iced water all day
long; is that healthy for her, with her weak
chest?"

" Why do you do that? "—inquired Liishin.

" But what result can it have? "

" What result? You may take cold and die."

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FIRST LOVE

"Really? Is it possible? Well,) all right-
that just suits me! "

"You don't say so!"— growled the doctor.
The old Princess went away.
\ " I do say so,"— retorted Zinaida.— " Is living
such a cheerful thing? Look about you. . . Well
—is it nice? Or do you think that I do not under-
stand it, do not feel it? It aifords me pleasure to
drink iced water, and you can seriously assure me
f that such a life is worth too much for me to im-
peril it for a moment's pleasure— I do not speak
of happiness/'

" Well, yes,"— remarked Lushin: — " caprice

and independence Those two words sum you

up completely; yoiu* whole nature lies in those
two words."

Zinaida biu*st into a nervous laugh.

" You 're too late by one mail, my dear doctor.
You observe badly; you are falling behind.— Put
on your spectacles.— I am in no mood for ca-
prices now; how jolly to play pranks on you or

on myself !— and as for independence M'sieu

Voldemar,"— added Zinaida, suddenly stamping
her foot,— "don't wear a melancholy face. I
cannot endure to have people commiserating me."
—She hastily withdrew.

" This atmosphere is injurious, injurious to
you, young man,"— said Lushin to me once more.

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On the evening of that same day the customary
\asitors assembled at the Zasyekins' ; I was among
the nmnber.

The conversation turned on Maidanoif 's poem;
Zinaida candidly praised it,—" But do you know
what?"— she said:—" If I were a poet, I would
select other subjects. Perhaps this is all non-
sense, but strange thoughts sometimes come into
my head, especially when I am wakeful toward
morning, when the sky is beginning to turn pink
and grey.— I would, for example .... You will
not laugh at me? "

" No! No! "—we all exclaimed with one voice.

" I would depict,"— she went on, crossing her
arms on her breast, and turning her eyes aside,—
" a whole company of young girls, by night, in a
big boat, on a tranquil river. The moon is shin-
ing, and they are all in white and wear garlands
of white flowers, and they are singing, you know,
something in the nature of a hymn."

" I understand, I understand, go on,"— said
Maidanoff significantly and dreamily.

" Suddenly there is a noise— laughter, torches,
tambourines on the shore. ... It is a throng of
bacchantes running with songs and outcries. It is
your business to draw the picture, Mr. Poet ....

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only I would like to have the torches ired and very
smoky, and that the eyes of the bacchantes should
gleam beneath their wreaths, and that the wreaths
should be dark. Don't forget also tiger-skins and
cups— and gold, a great deal of gold."

" But where is the gold to be? " inquired Mai-
danoff , tossing back his lank hair and inflating his
nostrils.

"Where? On the shoulders, the hands, the
feet, everywhere. They say that in ancient times
women wore golden rings on their ankles.— The
bacchantes call the young girls in the boat to
come to them. The girls have ceased to chant
their hymn,— they cannot go on with it,— but they
do not stir; the river drifts them to the shore.
And now suddenly one of them rises quietly. . . .
This must be well described: how she rises quietly
in the moonlight, and how startled her compan-
ions are. . . . She has stepped over the edge of
the boat, the bacchantes have surrounded her,
X they have dashed off into the night, into the
gloom. . . . Present at this point smoke in clouds ;
and everything has become thoroughly confused.
Nothing is to be heaopd but their whimpering, and
her wreath has been left lying on the shore."

Zinaida ceased speaking. " Oh, she is in lovel "
— I thought again.

" Is that all? "—asked Maidanoff.

" That is all,"— she replied.

" That cannot be made the subject of an entire

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^ FIRST LOVE

poem,"— he/ remarked pompously,— " but I will
utilise your idea for some lyrical verses."

" In the romantic vein? "—asked Malej;;

" Of coiu-se, in the romantic vein— ip Byron's
style."

" But in my opinion, Hugo is better than By-
ron,"— remarked the young Count, carelessly:—
" he is more interesting."

" Hugo is a writer of the first class,"— rejoined
Maidanojff, " and my friend Tonkosheeif , in his
Spanish romance, ' El Trovador '...."

" Ah, that 's the book with the question-marks
turned upside down? "—interrupted Zinaida.

" Yes. That is the accepted custom among the
Spaniards. I was about to say that Tonko-
sh^eff "

" Come now ! You will begin to wrangle again
about classicism and romanticism," — Zinaida in-
terrupted him again.—" Let us rather play . . . ."

" At forfeits? "—put in Liishin.
, " No, forfeits is tiresome; but at comparisons."
/ (This game had been invented by Zinaida her-
i self; some object was named, and each person
\tried to compare it with something or other, and
the one who matched the thing with the best com-
parison received a prize.) She went to the win-
dow. The sun had just set; long, crimson clouds
]iung high aloft in the sky.

; " What are those 'clouds like? "—inquired Zi- .
jbaida and, without waiting for our answers, she

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FIRST LOVE

said:—" I think that they resemble those crimson
sails which were on Cleopatra's golden ship, when
she went to meet Antony. You were telling me
about that not long ago, do you remember, Mai-
danoff ? "

All of us, like Polonius in " Hamlet," decided
that the clouds reminded us precisely of those
sails, and that none of us could find a better com-
parison.

" And how old was Antony at that time? " —
asked Zinaida.

"He was assiu-edly still a young man,*'— re-
marked Malevsky.

"Yes, he was young,"— assented Maidanoff
confidently.

"Excuse me,"— exclaimed Lushin,— "he was
over forty years of age."

" Over forty years of age,"— repeated Zinaida,
darting a swift glance at him. . . .

I soon went home.—" She is in love," my lips
whispered involuntarily. ..." But with whom?

The days passed by. Zinaida grew more and
more strange, more and more incomprehensible.
One day I entered her house and found her sitting
on a straw-bottomed chair, with her head pressed
against the sharp edge of a table. She straJght-

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ened up ... . her face was again all bathed in
tears.

"Ah I It's you!"— she said, with a harsh
grimace.—" Come hither."

I went up to her : she laid her hand on my head
and, suddenly seizing me by the hair, began to
pull it.

" It hurts "... I said at last.

"Ah! It hiu-ts! And doesn't it hurt me?
Does n't it hurt me? "—she repeated.

"Ai!" — she suddenly cried, perceiving that
she had pulled out a small tuft of my hair.—
" What have I done? Poor M'sieu Voldemar! "
She carefully straightened out the hairs she had
plucked out, wound them round her finger, and
twisted them into a ring.

" I will put your hair in my locket and wear
it," — she said, and tears glistened in her eyes. —
" Perhaps that will comfort you a little .... but
now, good-bye."

I returned home and found an unpleasant state
of things there. A scene was in progress between
my father and my mother; she was upbraiding
him for something or other, while he, according to
his wont, was maintaining a cold, polite silence —
and speedily went away. I coidd not hear what
my mother was talking about, neither did I care
to know: I remember only, that, at the conclu-
sion of the scene, she ordered me to be called to
her boudoir, and expressed herself with great dis-

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satisfaction about my frequent visits at the house
of the old Princess, who was, according to her as-
sertions, t^r^ femme capable de tout. I kissed her
hand (I always did that when I wanted to put an
end to the conversation) , and went oif to my own
room. Zinaida's tears^ had completely discom-
fited me; I positively did not know what to
think, and was ready to cry myself: I was still a
child, in spite of my sixteen years. I thought no
more of Malevsky, although Byelovzoroif be-
came more and more menacing every day, and
glared at the shifty Count like a wolf at a sheep ;
but I was not thinking of anything or of any-
body. I lost myself in conjectiu'es and kept seek-
ing isolated spots. I took a special fancy to the
ruins of the hothouse. I could clamber up on the
high wall, seat myself, arid sit there such an un-
happy, lonely, and sad youth that I felt sorry for
myself —and how delightful those mournful sen-
sations were, how I gloated over them! . . .

One day, I was sitting thus on the wall, gazing
off into the distance and listening to the chiming
of the bells .... when suddenly something ran
over me— not a breeze exactly, not a shiver, but
something resembling a breath, the consciousness
of some one's proximity. ... I dropped my eyes.
Below me, in a light grey gown, with, a pink para-
sol on her shoulder, Zinaida was walking hastily
along the road. She saw me, halted, and, pushing

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up the brim of her straw hat, raised her velvety
eyes to mine.

" What are you doing there, on such a height? "
— she asked me, with a strange sort of smile. —
" There now,"— she went on,—" you are always
declaring that you love me— jump down to me
here on the road if you really do love me.''

Before the words were well oiit of Zinaida's
mouth I had flown down, exactly as though some
one had given me a push from behind. The wall
was about two fathoms high. I landed on the
ground with my feet, but the shock was so violent
that I could not retain my balance; I fell, and
lost consciousness for a moment. When I came
to myself I felt, without opening nay eyes, that
Zinaida was by my side.—" My dear boy,"— she
was saying, as she bent over me— and tender anxi-
ety was audible in her voice—" how couldst thou
do that, how couldst thou obey? .... I love thee
• . . • nsc

Her breast was heaving beside me, her hands
were touching my head, and suddenly— what were
my sensations then!— her soft, fresh lips began
to cover my whole face with kisses .... they
touched my lips. ... But at this point Zinaida
probably divined from the expression of my face
that I had already recovered consciousness, al-
though I still did not open my eyes— and swiftly
rising to her feet, she said:—" Come, get up, you

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rogue, you foolish fellow! Why do you lie there
in the dust? "—I got up.

"Give me my parasol,"— said Zinaida.— "I
have thrown it somewhere; and don't look at me

like that what nonsense is this? You are

hurt? You have burned yoiu-self with the nettles,
I suppose. Don't look at me like that, I tell
you. . . . Why, he understands nothing, he doesn't
answer me,"— she added, as though speaking to
herself. ..." Go home, M'sieu Voldemar, brush
yourself oif , and don't dare to follow me— if you
do I shall be very angry, and I shall never
again . . . ."

She did not finish her speech and walked briskly
away, while I sat down by the roadside . . . my
legs would hot support me. The nettles had
stung my hands, my back ached, and my head was
reeling; but the sensation of beatitude which I
then experienced has never since been repeated in
my life. It hung like a sweet pain in all my limbs
and broke out at last in raptiu*ous leaps and ex-
clamations. As a matter of fact, I was still a
child.

XIII

I WAS SO happy and proud all that day; I pre-
served so vividly on my visage the feeling of Zi-
naida's kisses; I recalled her every word with such
ecstasy; I so cherished my unexpected happiness
that I even became frightened; I did not even

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wish to see her who was the cause of those new
sensations. It seemed to me that I could ask /
nothing more of Fate, that now I must " take ;
and draw a deep breath for the last time, and}
die." On the other hand, when I set off for the |
wing next day, I felt a great agitation, which I
vainly endeavoured to conceal beneath the dis-
creet facial ease suitable for a man who wishes to
let it be understood that he knows how to keep a
secret. Zinaida received me very simply, without
any emotion, merely shaking her finger at me and
asking: Had I any bruises? All my discreet ease
of manner and mysteriousness instantly disap-
peared, and along with them my agitation. Of
course I had not expected anything in particular,
but Zinaida's composiu'e acted on me like a dash
of cold water. I understood that I was a child in 1 <\
her eyes— and my heart waxed very heavy! Zi- '
naida paced to and fro in the room, smiling
swiftly every time she glanced at me; but her

thoughts were far away, I saw that clearly

" Shall I allude to what happened yesterday my-
self,"— I thought;— "shall I ask her where she
was going in such haste, in order to find out,
definitively? " . . . . but I merely waved my hand
in despair and sat down in a comer.

Byelovzoroff entered; I was delighted to see
him.

" I have not found you a gentle saddle-horse,"
—he began in a surly tone ; — " Freitag vouches

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to me for one— but I am not convinced. I am
afraid."

" Of what are you afraid, allow me to in-
quire? " asked Zinaida.

" Of what? Why, you don't know how to ride.
God forbid that any accident should happen!
And what has put that freak into your head? "

" Come, that 's my affair, M'sieu my wild beast.
In that case, I will ask Piotr Vasfliievitch " . . . .
(My father was called Piotr Vasilievitch .... I
was amazed that she should mention his name so
lightly and freely, exactly as though she were
kjonvinced of his readiness to serve her.)

" You don't say so! "—retorted Byelovz6roff.
— " Is it with him that you wish to ride? "

" With him or some one else, —that makes no
difference to you. Only not with you."

"Not with me,"— said Byelovzoroff.— " As
you like. What does it matter? I will get you
the horse." *

" But see to it that it is not a cow-like beast. I
warn you in advance that I mean to gallop."

" Gallop, if you wish. • • . But is it with Malev-
sky that you are going to ride? "

" And why should n't I ride with him, warrior?
Come, quiet down. I '11 take you too. You know
that for me Malevsky is now— fie! "—She shook
her head.

" You say that just to console me,"— growled
Byelovzoroff.

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Zinaida narrowed her eyes.—" Does that con-
sole you? . . oh . . oh . . . oh . . warrior! "—she said
at last, as though unahle to find any other word.—
" And would you like to ride with us, M'sieu Vol-
demar? "

" I 'm not fond of riding .... in a large party,"
... I muttered, without raising my eyes.

" You prefer a tite-d-tite? . . . Well, every one
to his taste,"— she said, with a sigh.—" But go,
Byelovzoroflf, make an eflfort. I want the horse
for to-morrow."

" Yes; but where am 1 to get the money? "—
interposed the old Princess.

Zinaida frowned.

" I am not asking any from you; Byelovzoroff
will trust me."

" He wiD, he will," .... grumbled the old Prin-
cess—and suddenly screamed at the top of her
voice:—" Dunyashka! "

^^ Maman, I made you a present of a bell,"— re-
marked the young Princess.

" Dunyashka! "—repeated the old woman.

Byelovzoroflf bowed himself out; I went out
with him. Zinaida did not detain me.

XIV

I ROSE early the next morning, cut myself a staff,
and went off beyond the city barrier. " I '11 have
a walk and banish my grief,"— I said to myself.
-- 67

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It was a beautiful day, brilliant but not too hot ;
a cheerful, fresh breeze was blowing over the
earth and rustling and playing moderately, keep-
ing in constant motion and agitating nothing.
For a long time I roamed about on the hills and
in the forests. I did not feel happy; I had left
home with the intention of sm*rendering myself
to melancholy;— but youth, the fine weather, the
fresh air, the diversion of brisk pedestrian exer-
ercise, the delight of lying in solitude on the thick
grass, produced their eflfect; the memory of those
unforgettable words, of those kisses, again thrust
themselves into my soul. It was pleasant to me
to think that Zinaida could not, nevertheless, fail
to do justice to my decision, to my heroism. . . .
" Others are better for her than I,"— I thought:
— " so be it! On the other hand, the others only
say what they will do, but I have done it! And
what else am I capable of doing for her? ""— My
imagination began to ferment. I began to pic-
ture to myself how I would save her from the
hands of enemies; how, all bathed in blood, I
would wrest her out of prison; how I would
die at her feet. I recalled a picture which hung
in .our dravraig-room of Malek-Adel carrying
off Matilda— and thereupon became engrossed
in the appearance of a big, speckled woodpecker
which was busily ascending the slender trunk
of a birch-tree, and uneasily peering out from
behind it, now on the right, now on the left,

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like a musician from behind the neck of his
bass-viol.

Then I began to sing: " Not the white snows,"
— and ran off into the romance which was well
known at that period, " I will await thee when the
playful breeze " ; then I began to recite aloud
Ermak's invocation to the stars in Khomyakoff 's
tragedy; I tried to compose something in a senti-
mental vein; I even thought out the line where-
with the whole poem was to conclude: " Oh, Zi-
naida! Zinalda! "— But it came to nothing.
Meanwhile, dinner-time was approaching. I de-
scended into the valley; a narrow, sandy. path
wound through it and led toward the town. I
strolled along that path. . . . The dull tramp-
ling of horses' hoofs resounded behind me. I
glanced round, involuntarily came to a stand-
still and pulled off my cap. I beheld my'
father and Zinaida. They were riding side
by side. My father was saying something to
her, bending his whole body toward her,
and resting his hand on the neck of her horse;
he was smiling. Zinaida was listening to him in
silence, with her eyes severely downcast and lips .
compressed. At first I saw only them; it was
not until several moments later that Byelovzoroff
made his appearance from round a turn in the
valley, dressed in hussar uniform with pelisse, and
mounted on a foam-flecked black horse. The
good steed was tossing his head, snorting and cur-

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vetting; the rider was both reining him in and
spurring him on. I stepped aside. My father
gathered up his reins and moved away from Zi-
naida; she slowly raised her eyes to his— and both
set off at a gallop. . . • Byelovzoroff dashed head-
long after them with clanking sword. " He is as
red as a crab/'— I thought,—" and she. . . . Why
is she so pale? She has been riding the whole
moming-and yet she is pale? "

I redoubled my pace and managed to reach
home just before dinner. My father was already
sitting, re-dressed, well-washed and fresh, beside
my mother's arm-chair, and reading aloud to her
in his even, sonorous voice, the f euilleton of the
Journal des DSbats; but my mother was listen-
ing to him inattentively and, on catching sight of
me, inquired where I had been all day, adding,
that she did not like to have me prowling about
God only knew where and God only knew with
whom. " But I have been walking alone," — I
was on the point of replying; but I glanced at
my father and for some reason or other held my
peace.

During the course of the next five or six days I
hardly saw Zinaida; she gave it out that she was
ill, which did not, however, prevent the habitual
visitors from presenting themselves at the wing
—"to take their turn in attendance,"— as they

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expressed it;— all except Maidanoff, who imme-
diately became dispirited as soon as he had no
opportunity to go into raptures. Byelovzoroff
sat morosely in a comer, all tightly buttoned up
and red in the face; on Count Malevsky's delicate
visage hovered constantly a sort of evil smile; he
really had fallen into disfavour v\rith Zinaida and
listened with particular pains to the old Princess,
and drove with her to the Governor-CJenerars in
a hired carriage. But this trip proved unsuccess-
ful and even resulted in an unpleasantness for
Malevsky : he was reminded of some row with cer-
tain Puteisk officers, and was compelled, in self-
justification, to say that he was inexperienced at
the time. Lushin came twice a day, but did not
remain long. I was somewhat afraid of him after
our last explanation and, at the same time, I felt
a sincere attachment for him. One day he went
for a stroll with me in the Neskiitchny Park, was
very good-natured and amiable, imparted to me
the names and properties of various plants and
flowers, and suddenly exclaimed— without rhyme
or reason, as the saying is— as he smote himself on| »
the brow: " And I, like a fool, thought she was a; ' \
coquette! Evidently, it is sweet to sacrifice one's 1 ' \
self —for some people! " '

"What do you mean to say by that?"— I
asked.

" I don't mean to say anything to you,"— re-
turned Lushin, abruptly.

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Zinaida avoided me; my appearance— I could
not but perceive the fact— produced an unpleas-
ant impression on her. She involuntarily turned
away from me ... . involuntarily; that was
what was bitter, that was what broke my heart!
But there was no help for it and I tried to keep
out of her sight and only stand guard over her
from a distance, in which I was not always suc-
cessful. As before, something incomprehensible
was taking place with her; her face had become
different— she was altogether a different person.
I was particularly struck by the change which had
taken place in her on a certain warm, tranquil
evening. I was sitting on a low bench under a
wide-spreading elder-bush; I loved that little
nook ; the window of Zinaida's chamber was visi-
ble thence. I was sitting there ; over my head, in
the darkened foliage, a tiny bird was rmnmaging
fussily about; a great cat with outstretched back
had stolen into the garden, and the first beetles
were booming heavily in the air, which was still
transparent although no longer light. I sat there
and stared at the window, and waited to see whe-
ther some one would not open it: and, in fact, it
did open, and Zinaida made her appearance in it.
She wore a white gown, and she herself — her face,
her shoulders and her hands— was pale to white-
ness. She remained for a long time motionless,
and for a long time stared, without moving,
straight in front of her from beneath her con-

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tracted brows. I did not recognise that look in
her. Then she clasped her hands very, very
tightly, raised them to her lips, to her forehead—
and suddenly, unlocking her fingers, pushed
her hair away from her ears; shook it back and,
throvmig her head downward from above with a
certain decisiveness, she shut the window with a
bang.

Two days later she met me in the park. I tried
to step aside, but she stopped me.

" Give me your hand,"— she said to me, with
her former affection.—" It is a long time since
you and I have had a chat."

I looked at her; her eyes were beaming softly
and her face was smiling, as though athwart a
oust.

" Are you still ailing? "—I asked her.

" No, everything has passed off now,"— she re-
plied, breaking off a small, red rose.—" I am a
little tired, but that will pass off also."

" And will you be once more the same as you
used to be? "—I queried.

Zinaida raised the rose to her face, and it
seemed to me as though the reflection of the bril-
liant petals fell upon her cheeks.—" Have I
changed ? " — she asked me.

" Yes, you have changed,"— I replied in a low
voice.

" I was cold toward you,— I know that,"— be-
gan Zinafda;— " but you must not pay any heed

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to that. . • . I could not do otherwise. . • .
Come, what 's the use of talking about that? "

" You do not want me to love you— tha^' 's
what!" I exclaimed gloomily, with involuntary
impetuosity.

" Yes, love me, but not as before."

" How then? "

" Let us be friends,— that is how! "— Zinaida
allowed me to smell of the rose.—" Listen; I am
much older than you, you know— I might be your
aunt, really; well, if not your aunt, then your
elder sister. While you . . . •"

" I am a child to you,"— I interrupted her.

"Well, yes, you are a child, but a dear, good,
clever child, of whom I am very fond. Do you
know what? I will appoint you to the post of my
page from this day forth; and you are not to for-
get that pages must not be separated from their
mistress. Here is a token of your new dignity
for you,"— she added, sticking the rose into the
button-hole of my round-jacket; " a token of our
favour toward you."

" I have received many favours from you in
the past,"— I murmured.

" Ah! "—said Zinaida, and darting a sidelong
glance at me.— "What a memory you have!
Well? And I am ready now also • . • ."

And bending toward me, she imprinted on my
brow a pure, calm kiss. «

I only stared at her— but she turned away and,

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saying,— " Follow me, my page,"— walked to
the wing. I followed her— and was in a con-
stant state of bewilderment.—" Is it possible,"—
I thought,—" that this gentle, sensible yomig girl
is that same Zinalda whom I used to know? "— ^ j
And her very walk seemed to me more quiet, her * (
whole figure more majestic, more graceful. . • . i ;
1^ And, my God! with what fresh violence did
I love flame up within mel I

XVI

After dinner the visitors were assembled again
in the wing, and the young Princess came out to
them. The whole company was present, in full
force, as oiTtEiBrt first evening, never to be f orgot-

^ten T)y me: even Nirmatzky had dragged himself
thither. Maidanoff had arrived earlier than all
the rest; he had brought some new verses. The
game of forfeits began again, but this time with-
out the strange sallies, without pranks and up-
roar; the gipsy element had vanished. Zinaida
gave a new mood to our gathering. I sat beside
her, as a page should. Among other things, she
proposed that the one whose forfeit was drawn
dbould narrate his dream; but this was not a suc-
cess. The dreams turned out to be either unin-
teresting (Byelovzoroff had dreamed that he had

* fed his horse on carp, and that it had a wooden
head), or unnatural, fictitious. Maidanoff re-

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galed us with a complete novel; there were sepul-
chres and angels with harps, and burning lights
and sounds wafted from afar. Zinaida did not
allow him to finish. " If it is a question of inven-
tion,"— said she,—" then let each one relate some-
thing which is positively made up." — Byelov-
zoroff had to speak first.

The young hussar became confused.—" I can-
not invent anything! "—he exclaimed.

"What nonsense!" — interposed Zinaida. —
" Come, imagine, for instance, that you are mar-
ried, and tell us how you would pass the time
with your wife. Would you lock her up? "

" I would."

" And would you sit with her yourself? "

" I certainly would sit with her myself."

" Very good. Well, and what if that bored
her, and she betrayed you? "

"I would kill her."

" Just so. Well, now supposing that I were
your wife, what would you do then? "

Byelovzoroff made no answer for a while. — " I
would kill myself . . . ."

Zinaida burst out laughing.— "I see that
there 's not much to be got out of you."

The second forfeit fell to Zinaida's share. She
raised her eyes to the ceiling and meditated. —
" See here,"— she began at last,—" this is what I
have devised. . . . Imagine to yourselves a mag-
nificent palace, a summer night, and a marvellous

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ball. This ball is given by the young Queen.
Everywhere there are gold, marble, silk, lights,
diamonds, flowers, the smoke of incense— all the
whims of luxury."

" Do you love luxury? " — interrupted Liishin.

"Luxury is beautiful,"— she returned;- "I
love everything that is beautiful."

" More than what is fine? "—he asked.

" That is diflBcult; somehow I don't understand.
Don't bother me. So then, there is a magnificent
Jball. There are many guests, they are all young,
very handsome, brave; all are desperately in love
with the Queen."

" Are there no women among the guests? "—
inquired Malevsky.

" No— or stay— yes, there are."

" Also very handsome? "

" Charming. But the men are all in love with
the Queen. She is tall and slender; she wears a
small gold diadem on her black hair."

I looked at Zinaida— and at that moment she
seemed so far above us, her white forehead and
her impassive eyebrows exhaled so much clear in-
telligence and such sovereignty, that I said to my-
self : " Thou thyself art that Queen! "

"All throng around her,"— pursued Zinaida;
— " all lavish the most flattering speeches on her."

" And is she fond of flattery? "—asked Liishin.

"How intolerable! He is continually inter-
rupting. . . Who does not like flattery? "

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" One more final question,"— remarked Malev-
sky:— " Has the Queen a husband? "

" I have not thought about that. No, why-
should she have a husband? "

" Of course,"— assented Malevsky;— " why
should she have a husband? "

"Silence! "—exclaimed, in English, Maida-
noflf, who spoke French badly.

''Merci/'— said Zinaida to him.—" So then,
the Queen listens to those speeches, listens to the
music, but does not look at a single one of the
guests. Six windows are open from top to bot-
tom, from ceiling to floor, and behind them are
the dark sky with great stars and the dark garden
with huge trees. The Queen gazes into the gar-
den. There, near the trees is a fountain: it gleams
white athwart the gloom— long, as long as a
spectre. The Queen hears the quiet plashing of
its waters in the midst of the conversation and the
music. She gazes and thinks: * All of you gen-
tlemen are noble, clever, wealthy; you are all
ready to die at my feet, I rule over you; ....
but yonder, by the side of the fountain, by the
side of that plashing water, there is standing and
waiting for me the man whom I love, who rules
over me. He wears no rich garments, nor pre-
cious jewels; no one knows him; but he is waiting
for me, and is convinced that I shall come — and
I shall come, and there is no power in existence
which can stop me when I wish to go to him and

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remain with him and lose myself with him yonder,
in the gloom of the park, beneath the rustling of
the trees, beneath the plashing of the foun-
tain . . • / "

Zinaida ceased speaking.

" Is that an invention? "—asked Malevsky
slyly.

Zinaida did not even glance at him.

"But what should we do, gentlemen,"— sud-
denly spoke up Lushin,— " if we were among the
guests and knew about that luckv man by the
fountain? " *^

"Stay, stay,"— interposed Zinaida:— "I my-
self will tell you what each one of you would do.
You, Byelovzoroff, would challenge him to a
duel; you, Maid^noff, would write an epigram on
him. . . . But no— you do not know how to
write epigrams; you would compose a long iambic
poem on him, after the style of Barbier, and
would insert your production in the Telegraph.
You, Nirmdtzky, would borrow from him ....
no, you would lend him money on interest; you,
doctor . . . ." She paused. ..." I really do
not know about you,— what you would do."

" In my capacity of Court-physician," replied
Lushin, " I would advise the Queen not to give
balls when she did not feel in the mood for
guests • . . •"

; " Perhaps you would be in the right. And you.
Count? "

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"And I?"— repeated Malevsky, with an evil
smile.

"And you would offer him some poisoned
sugar-plums."

Malevsky's face writhed a little and assumed
for a moment a Jewish expression; but he imme-
diately burst into a guffaw.

"As for you, M'sieu Voldemar "

went on Zinaida,— " but enough of this; let us
play at some other game."

/ " M'sieu Voldemar, in his capacity of page to
j the Queen, would hold up her train when she ran
/ off into the park,"— remarked Malevsky vi-
; ciously.

I flared up, but Zinaida swiftly laid her hand
on my shoulder and rising, said in a slightly
tremulous voice: — "I have never given Your
Radiance the right to be insolent, and therefore
I beg that you will withdraw."— She pointed him
to the door.

"Have mercy. Princess,"— mumbled Malev-
sky, turning pale all over.

" The Princess is right,"— exclaimed Byelov-
zoroff , rising to his feet also.

" By God! I never in the least expected this,"
—went on Malevsky:—" I think there was noth-
ing in my words which .... I had no intention of
offending you. . . . Forgive me." i

Zinaida surveyed him with a cold glance, and
smiled coldly.—" Remain, if you like,"— she saidj,

80 }

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with a careless wave of her hand.—" M'sieu
Voldemar and I have taken offence without
cause. You find it merry to jest. ... I wish you
weU."

" Forgive me,"— repeated Malevsky once
more; and I, recalling Zinaida's movement,
thought again that a real queen could not have
ordered an insolent man out of the room with
more majesty.

The game of forfeits did not continue long
after this little scene; all felt somewhat awkward,
not so much in consequence of the scene itself as
from another, not entirely defined, but oppressive
sensation. No one alluded to it, but each one was
conscious of its existence within himself and in his
neighbour. Maidanoff recited to us all his poems
—and Malevsky lauded them with exaggerated
warmth.

" How hard he is trying to appear amiable
now,"— Lushin whispered to me.

We soon dispersed. Zinaida had suddenly
grown pensive; the old Princess sent word that
she had a headache; Nirmatzky began to com-
plain of his rheumatism. • • .

For a long time I could not get to sleep; Zi-
naida's narrative had impressed me.—" Is it pos-
sible that it contains a hint? "—I asked myself:
— " and at whom was she hinting? And if there
really is some one to hint about .... what must
I decide to do? No, no, it cannot be,"— I whis-

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pered, turning over from one burning cheek to
the other. . . . But I called to mind the expres-
sion of Zinaida's face during her narration. ... I
called to mind the exclamation which had broken
from Liishin in the Neskiitchny Park, the sudden
changes in her treatment of me — and lost myself
in conjectures. " Who is he? " Those three words
seemed to stand in front of my eyes, outlined in
the darkness; a low-lying, ominous cloud seemed
to be hanging over me— and I felt its pressure—
and waited every moment for it to burst. I had
grown used to many things of late; I had seen
many things at the Zasyekins'; their disorderli-
ness, tallow candle-ends, broken knives and forks,
gloomy Vonif aty, the shabby maids, the man-
ners of the old Princess herself,— all that strange
life no longer surprised me. . . . But to that
which I now dimly felt in Zinaida I could not get
used . . . . " An adventuress,"— my mother had
one day said concerning her. An adventuress-
she, my idol, my divinity I That appellation
seared me; I tried to escape from it by burrowing
into my pillow; I raged— and at the same time,
to what would not I have agreed, what would not
I have given, if only I might be that happy mor-
tal by the fountain I . . .

My blood grew hot and seethed within me.
"A garden .... a fountain," ... I thought.
..." I will go into the garden." I dressed my-
self quickly and slipped out of the house. Thq

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night was dark, the trees were barely whispering;
a quiet chill was descending from the sky, an
odour of fennel was wafted from the vegetable-
garden. I made the round of all the alleys; the
light sound of my footsteps both disconcerted me
and gave me courage; I halted, waiting and lis-
tening to hear how my heart was beating quickly
and violently. At last I approached the fence and
leaned against a slender post. All at once— or
was it only my imagination?— a woman's figure
flitted past a few paces distant from me. ... I
strained my eyes intently on the darkness; I held
my breath. What was this? Was it footsteps
that I heard or was it the thumping of my heart
again?—" Who is here? "—I stammered in barely
audible tones. What was that again? A sup-
pressed laugh? .... or a rustling in the leaves?
.... or a sigh close to my very ear? I was terri-
fied. . . . "Who is here? "—I repeated, in a still
lower voice.

The breeze began to flutter for a moment; a
fiery band flashed across the sky ; a star shot down.
— " Is it Zinaida? ''—I tried to ask, but the sound
died on my lips. And suddenly everything be-
came profoundly silent all around, as often hap- '
pens in the middle of the night. • . . Even the
katydids ceased to shrill in the trees; only a win-
dow rattled somewhere. I stood and stood, then
returned to my chamber, to my cold bed. I felt
a strange agitation — exactly as though I had

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gone to a tryst, and had remained alone, and had
passed by some one else's happiness.

XVII

The next day I caught only a glimpse of Zi-
naida; she drove away somewhere with the old
Princess in a hired carriage. On the other hand,
I saw Liishin— who, however, barely deigned to
bestow a greeting on me— and Malevsky. The
yomig Count grinned and entered into conversa-
tion with me in friendly wise. Among all the
visitors to the wing he alone had managed to ef-
fect an entrance to our house, and my mother had
taken a fancy to him. My father did not favour
him and treated him pohtely to the point of insult.

"Ah, monsieur le page/^—hegan Malevsky,
—"I am very glad to meet you. What is your
beauteous queen doing? "

His fresh, handsome face was so repulsive to
me at that moment, and he looked at me with such
a scornfully-playful stare, that I made him no
answer whatsoever.

" Are you still in a bad humour? "—he went on.
— " There is no occasion for it. It was not I, you
know, who called you a page; and pages are
chiefly with queens. But permit me to observe to
you that you are fulfilling your duties badly."

" How so? "

^' Pages ought to be inseparable from their sov-

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ereigns; pages ought to know everything that,
they do; they ought even to watch over them," —
he added, lowering his voice,—" day and night." \

" What do you mean by that? " 1

" What do I mean? I think I have expressed
myself plainly. Day— and night. It does not
matter so much about the day; by day it is
light and there are people about; but by night
— that 's exactly the time to expect a catastrophe. ^
I advise you not to sleep o' nights and to watch^ '
watch with all your might. Remember— in a gar-]\
den, by night, near the fountain— that 's where^.
you must keep guard. You wiQ thank me for(
this." ;

Malevsky laughed and turned his back on me. j
He did not, in all probability, attribute fttiy^
special importance to what he had said to me; he
bore the reputation of being a capital hand at
mystification, and was renowned for his cleverness
in fooling people at the masquerades, in which
that almost unconscious disposition to lie, where-
with his whole being was permeated, greatly
aided him. . . . He had merely wished to tease
me; but every word of his trickled like poison
through all my veins.— The blood flew to my
head. ' '

"Ahl so that's it!"— I said to myself:—
"good! So it was not for nothing that I felt
drawn to the garden! That shall not be! " I ex- •
claimed, smiting myself on the breast with my

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fist; although I really did not know what it was
that I was determined not to permit.—" Whether
Malevsky himself comes into the garden," — I
thought (perhaps he had blurted out a secret; he
was insolent enough for that),— "or some one
else,"— (the fence of our vegetable-garden was
very low and it cost no effort to climb over it) —
" at any rate, it will be all the worse for the person
whom I catch! I would not advise any one to en-
counter me I I '11 show the whole world and her,
the traitress,''— (I actually called her a traitress)
— " that I know how to avenge myself I "

I returned to my own room, took out of my
writing-table a recently purchased English knife,
felt of the sharp blade, and, knitting my brows,
thrust it into my pocket with a cold and concen-
trated decision, exactly as though it was nothing
remarkable for me to do such deeds, and this was
not the first occasion. My heart swelled angrily
within me and grew stony; I did not unbend my
brows until nightfall and did not relax my lips,
and kept striding back and forth, clutching the
knife which had grown warm in my pocket, and
preparing myself in advance for something ter-
rible. These new, unprecedented emotions so en-
grossed and even cheered me, that I thought very
little about Zinaida herself. There kept con-
stantly flitting through my head Aleko, the
young gipsy:*— "Where art thou going, haT^-

* In Pdshkin's poem, " The Gipsies." —Trakslatoe. ^*
86 '

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some youth?— Lie down . • . ." and then:
" Thou 'rt all with blood bespattered I .... Oh,
what is 't that thou hast done? . . . Nothing! "
With what a harsh smile I repeated that: that
"Nothing!"

My father was not at home; but my mother,
who for some time past had been in a state of al-
most constant, dull irritation, noticed my baleful
aspect at supper, and said to me:— "What art
thou sulking at, like a mouse at groats?''— I
merely smiled patronisingly at her by way of re-
ply and thought to myself: " If they only knew! ''
— The clock struck eleven; I went to my own
room but did not undress ; I was .waiting fox mid-
night; at last it struck.—" 'T is time! "—I hissed
between my teeth, and buttoning my coat to the
throat and even turning up my sleeves I betook
myself to the garden.

I had selected a place beforehand where I
meant to stand on guard. At the end of the gar-
den, at the spot where the fence, which separated
our property from the Zasyekins', abutted on the
party-wall, grew a solitary spruce-tree. Stand-
ing beneath its low, thick branches, I could see
well, as far as the nocturnal gloom permitted, all
that went on around; there also meandered a path
which always seemed to me mysterious; like a ser-
pent it wound under the fence, which at that
point bore traces of clambering feet, and led to
an arbour of dense acacias. I reached the spruce-

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tree, leaned against its trunk and began my
watch.

The night was as tranquil as the preceding one
had been; but there were fewer storm-clouds in
the sky, and the outlines of the bushes, even of the
tall flowers, were more plainly discernible. The
first moments of waiting were wearisome, almost
terrible. I had made up my mind to everything ;
I was merely corLsideiing how I ought to act.
Ought I to .ttiixn4eJ?--^t: "Who goes there?
Halt! Confess— or die!"— or simply smite. . .
Every sound, every noise and rustling seemed to
me significant, unusual .... I made ready ....
I bent forward. .... But half an hour, an hour,
elapsed; my blood quieted down and turned cold;
the consciousness that I was doing all this in vain,
that I was even somewhat ridiculous, that Malev-
sky had been making fun of me, began to steal
into my soul. I abandoned my ambush and made
the round of the entire garden. As though ex-
pressly, not the slightest sound was to be heard
anywhere; everything was at rest; even our dog
was asleep, curled up in a ball at the gate. I
climbed up on the ruin of the hothouse, beheld
before me the distant plain, recalled my meeting
with Zinaida, and became immersed in medita-
tion

I started .... I thought I heard the creak of
an opening door, then the light crackling of a
broken twig. In two bounds I had descended

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from the ruin— and stood petrified on the spot.
Swift, light but cautious footsteps were plainly
audible in the garden. They were coming toward
ine. " Here he is. . . . Here he is, at last! " —
darted through my heart. I convulsively jerked
the knife out of my pocket, convulsively opened
it— red sparks whirled before my eyes, the hair
stood up on my head with fright and wrath. ...
The steps were coming straight toward me— I
bent over, and went to meet them. ... A man
made his appearance. . . . My God I It was my
father!

I recognised him instantly, although he was all
enveloped in a dark cloak,— and had pulled his ;
hat down over his face. He went past me on tip- :
toe. He did not notice me although nothing con- '
cealed me; but I had so contracted myself and 1
shrunk together that I think I must have been on •
a level with the ground. The jealous Othello, i
prepared to murder, had suddenly been converted
into the school-boy. ... I was so frightened by \
the unexpected apparition of my father that I did
not even take note, at first, in what direction he
was going and where he had disappeared. I
merely straightened up at the moment and
thought: " Why is my father walking in the gar-
den by night? "—when everything around had re-
lapsed into silence. In my alarm I had dropped
my knife in the grass, but I did not even try to
find it; I felt very much ashamed. I became so-

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bered on the instant. But as I wended my way
home, I stepped up to my little bench under the
elder-bush and east a glance at the little window
of Zinaida's chamber. The small, somewhat
curved panes of the little window gleamed didly
blue in the faint light which fell from the night
sky. Suddenly their coloiu' began to undergo a
change. . . . Behind them— I saw it, saw it
clearly,— a whitish shade was lowered, descended
to the sill,— and there remained motionless.

" What is the meaning of that? "—I said aloud,
almost involuntarily, when I again found myself

J in my own room.—" Was it a dream, an accident,
or .... " The surmises which suddenly came

; into my head were so new and strange that I

; iared not even yield to them.

XVIII

I ROSE in the morning with a headache. My agi-
tation of the night before had vanished. It had
been replaced by an oppressive perplexity and a
certain, hitherto unknown sadness,— exactly as
though something had died in me.

" What makes you look like a rabbit which has
had half of its brain removed? "—said Lushin,
who happened to meet me. At breakfast I kept
casting covert glances now at my father, now at
my mother; he was calm, as usual; she, as usual,
was secretly irritated. I waited to see whetfestt,

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my father would address me in a friendly way, as
he sometimes did. . . . But he did not even ca-
ress me with his cold, everyday affection.— -
" Shall I tell Zinaida all? "—I thought. . . .
" For it makes no difference now— everything is
over between us." I went to her, but I not only
did not tell her anything,— I did not even get a ;
chance to talk to her as I would have liked. The '
old Princess's son, a cadet aged twelve, had come
from Petersburg to spend his vacation with her;
Zinaida immediately confided her brother to me.
— " Here, my dear Volodya,'*— said she (she
called me so for the first time) , " is a conu*ade for
you. His name is Volodya also. Pray, like him;
he 's a wild little fellow still, but he has a good
heart. Show him Neskutchny Park, walk with
him, take him under your protection. You will
do that, will you not? You, too, are such a good
fellow I "—She laid both hands affectionately on
my shoulder— and I was reduced to utter confu-
sion. The arrival of that boy turned me into a
boy. I stared in silence at the cadet, who riveted
his eyes in corresponding silence on me. Zinaida
burst out laughing and pushed us toward each
other.— " Come, embrace, childreni"— We em-
braced.—" I '11 take you into the garden if you
wish,— shall I? "—I asked the cadet.

" Certainly, sir,"— he replied, in a hoarse,
genuine cadet voice. Again Zinaida indulged in
a burst of laughter. ... I managed to notice

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that never before had she had such channing col-
our m her face. The cadet and I went off to-
gether. In our garden stood an old swing. I
seated him on the thin little board and began to
swing him. He sat motionless in his new little
uniform of thick cloth with broad gold galloon,
and clung tightly to the ropes.

" You had better unhook your collar,"— I said
to him.

" Never mind, sir,* we are used to it, sir,''— he
said, and cleared his throat.

He resembled his sister; his eyes were particu-
larly suggestive of her. It was pleasant to me to
be of service to him; and, at the same time, that
aching pain kept quietly gnawing at my heart.
"Now I really am a child," I 'thought; "but
last night . ..." I remembered where I had
dropped my knife and found it. The cadet asked
me to lend it to him, plucked a thick stalk of
lovage, cut a whistle from it, and began to pipe.
^Othello piped also.

I But in the evening, on the other hand, how he
did weep, that same Othello, over Zinaida's hands
when, having sought him out in a corner of the
garden, she asked him what made him so melan-
choly. My tears streamed with such violence that
she was frightened.—" What is the matter with
you? What is the matter with you, Volodya? '*

* The respectful " s," which is an abbreviation of " sir " cnr
•• madam.*' —Translator.

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— she kept repeating, and seeing that I made her
no reply, she took it into her head to kiss my wet
cheek. But I turned away from her and whis-
pered through my sobs:— "I know everything;
why have you trifled with nieTTTTT'Why didj
you want my love? "

" I am to blame toward you, Volodya "...
said Zinaida.— " Akh, I am very much to blame " ^

she said, and clenched her hands.—

" How much evil, dark, sinful, there is in mel . . .
But I am itot trifling with you now, I love you—
you do not suspect why and how. . . . But what
is it you know?"

What could I say to her? She stood before me
and gazed at me— and I belonged to her wholly,
from head to foot, as soon as she looked at me.
... A quarter of an hour later I was running a
race with the cadet and Zinaida; I was not weep-
ing; I was laughing, although my swollen eyelids
dropped tears from laughing; on my neck, in
place of a tie, was bound a ribbon of Zinaida's,
and I shouted with joy when I succeeded in seiz-
ing her round the waist. She did with me whatso-
ever she would.

XIX

I SHOULD be hard put to it, if I were made to nar-
rate in detail all that went on within me in the
course of the week which followed my unsuccess-

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fill nocturnal expedition. It was a strange,
feverish time, a sort of chaos in which the most
opposite emotions, thoughts, suspicions, hopes,
joys, and sufferings revolved in a whirlwind; I
was afraid to look into myself, if a sixteen-
year-old can look into himself; I was afraid to ac-
count to myself for anything whatsoever; I sim-
ply made haste to live through the day until the
evening; on the other hand, at night I slept . . .
fchildish giddiness helped me. I did not want to
know whether I was beloved, and would not ad-
mit to myself that I was not beloved; I shunned
my father— but could not shun Zinaida. ... I
burned as with fire in her presence, .... but
what was the use of my knowing what sort of fire
it was wherewith I burned and melted— seeing
that it was sweet to me to burn and melt! I sur-
rendered myself entirely to my impressions, and
dealt artfully with myself, turned away from my
memories and shut my eyes to that of which I had
a presentiment in the future. . . . This anguish
probably would not have continued long ... a
thunder-clap put an instantaneous end to every-
thing and hurled me into a new course.
• On returning home one day to dinner from a
rather long walk, I learned with surprise that I
was to dine alone; that my father had gone away,
while my mother was ill, did not wish to dine
and had shut herself up in her bedroom. From
the footmen's faces I divined that sometb^'ncp jj^j^j.

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usual had taken place. ... I dared not interro-
gate them, but I had a friend, the young butler
Philipp, who was passionately fond of poetry and
an artist on the guitar; I applied to him. From
him I learned that a frightful scene had taken
place between my father and mother (for in the
maids' room everything was audible, to the last
word; a great deal had been said in French, but
the maid Masha had lived for five years with a
dressmaker from Paris and understood it all) ;
that my mother had accused my father of infi-
delity^ of being intimate with the young lady
our neighbour; that my father had first defended
himself, then had flared up and in his turn had
made some harsh remark " seemingly about her
age," which had set my mother to crying; that my j
mother had also referred to a note of hand, which i
appeared to have been given to the old Princess, !
and expressed herself very vilely about her, and (
about the young lady as well ; and that then my f
father had threatened her.— "And the whole
trouble arose,"— pursued Philipp, "out of an
anonymous letter; but who wrote it no one knows ;
otherwise there was no reason why this affair
should have come out."

"But has there been anjrthing? "— I enun-
ciated with difficulty, while my hands and feet
turned cold, and something began to quiver in the
very depths of my breast.

Phitipp winked significantly.—" There has.
195

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You can't conceal such doings, cautious as your
papa has been in this case;— still, what possessed
him, for example, to hire a carriage, or to ... .
for you can't get along without people there
also."

I dismissed Philipp, and flung myself down on

i my bed. I did not sob, I did not give myself up

: to despair; I did not ask myself when and how all
this had taken place ;^ I was not surprised. that_
l^had not guessed it sooner, long before— I did

I not even murmur against my father. . . . That
which I had learned was beyond my strength; this

■ sudden discovery had crushed me. . . . All was
over. All my flowers had been plucked up at one

iiblow and lay strewn around me, scattered and

; trampled under foot.

On the following day my mother announced that
she was going to remove to town. My father went
into her bedroom in the morning and sat there
a long time alone with her. No one heard what
he said to her, but my mother did not weep any
more; she calmed down and asked for something
to eat, but did not show hfersglf and did not alter
her intention. I remember that I wandered about
all day long, but did not go into the garden and
did not glance even once at the wing— and^in the

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evening I was the witness of an amazing occur-
rence; my father took Comit Malevsky by the
arm and led him out of the hall into the anteroom
and, in the presence of a lackey, said coldly to
him: " Several days ago Your Radiance was
shown the door in a certain house. I shall not
enter into explanations with you now, but I have
the honour to inform you that if you come to my
house again I shall fling you through the window.
I don't like your handwriting." The Count !
bowed, set his teeth, shrank together, and disap-
peared.

Preparations began for removing to town, on
the Arbat,* where our house was situated. Prob-
ably my father himself no longer cared to re-
main in the villa; but it was evident that he had
succeeded in persuading my mother not to make
a row. Everything was done quietly,^ without
haste; my mother even sent her compliments to
the old Princess and expressed her regret that,
owing to ill-health, she would be imable to see
her before her departure. I prowled about like
a crazy person, and desired but one thing, — that
everything might come to an end as speedily as
possible. One thought never quitted my head:
how could she, a young girl,— well, and a prin-
cess into the bargain,— bring herself to such a
step, knowing that my father was not a free man '
while she had the possibility of marrying Bye- 1

1 A square in Moscow.— Translator.

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lovzoroff at least, for example? What had she

''hoped for? How was it that she had not been

j afraid to ruin her whole future?— " Yes,"— I

' thought,—" that 's what love is,— that is passion,

■ —that is devotion," . . . and I recalled Liishin's

! words to me: " Self-sacrifice is sweet— for some

i people." Once I happened to catch sight of a

white spot in one of the windows of the wing. . . .

" Can that be Zinafda's face? "—I thought; . . .

and it really was her face. I could not hold out.

I could not part from her without bidding her a

last farewell. I seized a convenient moment and

betook myself to the wing.

In the drawing-room the old Princess received
me with her customary, slovenly-careless greet-
ing.

" What has made your folks uneasy so early,
my dear fellow? "—she said, stuflBng snuff up
both her nostrils. I looked at her, and a weight
was removed from my heart. The word " note
of hand " uttered by Philipp tormented me. She
suspected nothing .... so it seemed to me then,
at fSftstr Zinaida made her appearance from the
adjoining room in a black gown, pale, with hair
out of curl; she silently took me by the hand and
led me away to her room.

" I heard your voice,"— she began,—" and
came out at once. And did you find it so easy to
desert us, naughty boy? "

" I have come to take leave of you, Princess,"
98

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— I replied,—" probably forever. You may have
heard we are going away."

Zinafda gazed intently at me.

" Yes, I have heard. Thank you for coming.
I was beginning to think that I should not see
you.— Think kindly of me. I have sometimes
tormented you; but nevertheless I am not the sort
of person you think I am.'*

She turned away and leaned against the win-
dow-casing.

" Really, I am not that sort of person. I know
that you have a bad opinion of me."

"I?"

" Yes, you .... you."

"I?"— I repeated sorrowfully, and my heart
began to quiver as of old, beneath the influence of
the irresistible, inexpressible witchery. — " I ? Be-
lieve me, Zinaida Alexandrovna, whatever you
may have done, however you may have tormented
me, I shall love and adore you until the end of my^
hfe." \

She turned swiftly toward me and opening her
arms widely, she clasped my head, and kissed me
heartily and warmly- God knows whom that
long, farewell kiss was seeking, but I eagerly
tasted its sweetness. I knew that it would never
.more be repeated.—" Farewell, farewell 1 " I kept
saying. . . .

She wrenched herself away and left the room.
And I withdrew also. I am imable to describe

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the feeling with which I retired. I should not
wish ever to have it repeated; but I should
consider myself unhappy if I had never experi-
enced it.

We removed to town. I did not speedily de-
tach myself from the past, I did not speedily take
up my work. My wound healed slowly; but I
really had no evil feeling toward my father. On
the contrary, he seemed to have gained in stature
in my eyes .... let the psychologists explain
this contradiction as best they may. One day I
was walking along the boulevard when, to my in-
describable joy, I encountered Liishin. I liked
him for his straightforward, sincere character;
and, moreover, he was dear to me in virtue of the
memories which he awakened in me. I rushed at
him.

" Ahal "—he said, with a scowl.—" Is it you,
yovmg man? Come, let me have a look at you.
You are still all sallow, and yet there is not the
\ olden trash in your eyes. You look like a man,
not like a lap-dog. That *s good. Well, and how
are you? Are you working? "

I heaved a sigh. I did not wish to lie, and I
was ashamed to tell the truth.

"Well, never mind,"— went on Liishin,—
" don't be afraid. The principal thing is to live
in normal fashion and not to yield to impulses.
Otherwise, where 's the good? No matter whither
the wave bears one— 't is bad; let a man stand on

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a stone if need be, but on his own feet. Here I
am croaking .... but Byelovzoroff — have you
heard about him? '*

" What about him? No." ;

" He has disappeared without leaving a trace;
they say he has gone to the Caucasus. A lesson ;
to you, young man. And the whole thing arises
from not knowing how to say good-bye,— to
break bonds in time. You, now, seem to have
jumped out successfully. Look out, don't fall
in again. Farewell."

" I shall not fall in,"— I thought. ..." I
shall see her no more." But I was fated to see
^inaida once more.

XXI

My father was in the habit of riding on Horseback
every day; he had a splendid red-roan English
horse, with a long, slender neck and long legs,
indefatigable and vicious. Its name was Elec-
tric. No one could ride it except my father.
One day he came to me in a kindly frame of mind,
which had not happened with him for a long time :
he was preparing to ride, and had donned his
spurs. I began to entreat him to take me with

him.

" Let us, rather, play at leap-frog,"— replied

my father,—" for thou wilt not be able to keep up

with me on thy cob."

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" Yes, I shall; I will put on spurs also."

" Well, come along."

We set out. I had a shaggy, hlack little horse,
strong on its feet and fairly spirited; it had to
gallop with all its might, it is true, when Electric
was going at a full trot; but nevertheless I did
not fall behind. I have never seen such a horse-
man as my father. His seat was so fine and so
carelessly-adroit that the horse under him seemed
to be conscious of it and to take pride in it. We
rode the whole length of all the boulevards,
reached the Maidens' Field,* leaped over several
enclosures (at first I was afraid to leap, but my
father despised timid people, and I ceased to h^
afraid) ^, crossed the Moscow river twice;— and
I was beginning to think that we were on our way
homeward, the more so as my father remarked
that my horse was tired, when suddenly he turned
away from me in the direction of the Crimean
Ford, and galloped along the shore.— I dashed
after him. When he came on a level with a lofty
pile of old beams which lay heaped together, he
sprang nimbly from Electric, ordered me to
alight and, handing me the bridle of his horse,
told me to wait for him on that spot, near the
beams ; then he turned into a narrow alley and dis-

^ A great plain situated on the outskirts of the town. So called
because (says tradition) it was here that annually were assembled the
young girls who were sent, in addition to the money tribute, to the
Khan, during the Tatfo period, in the thirteenth and fourteenth cen-
turies. —Translator.

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appeared. I began to pace back and forth along
the shore, leading the horses after me and scold-
ing Electric, who as he walked kept incessantly
twitching his head, shaking himself, snorting and
neighing; when I stood still, he alternately-
pawed the earth with his hoof, and squealed and
bit my cob on the neck; in a word, behaved like
a spoiled darling, pur sang. My father did not
return. A disagreeable humidity was wafted
from the river; a fine rain set in and mottled the
stupid, grey beams, around which I was hovering
and of which I was so heartily tired, with tiny,
dark spots. Anxiety took possession of me, but
still my father did not come. A Finnish sentry,
also all grey, with a huge, old-fashioned shako, in
the form of a pot, on his head, and armed with a
halberd (why should there be a sentry, I thought,
on the shores of the Moscow river?), approached
me, and turning his elderly, wrinkled face to me,
he said:

" What are you doing here with those horses,
my little gentleman? Hand them over to me;
I 'U hold them."

I did not answer him; he asked me for some
tobacco. In order to rid myself of him (more-
over, I was tortured by impatience), I advanced
a few paces in the direction in which my father
had retreated; then I walked through the alley
to the very end, turned a comer, and came to a
standstill. On the street, forty paces distant from

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me, in front of the open window of a small
wooden house, with his back to me, stood my
father; he was leaning his breast on the window-
sill, while in the house, half concealed by the cur-
tain, sat a woman in a dark gown talking with my
father: the woman was Zinaida.

I stood rooted to the spot in amazement. I
must confess that I had in nowise expected this.
My first impulse was to flee. " My father will
glance round," I thought,—" and then I am lost."
.... But a strange feeling— a feeling more pow-
erful than curiosity, more powerful even than
jealousy, more powerful than fear,— stopped me.
I began to stare, I tried to hear. My father ap-
peared to be insisting upon something. Zinaida
would not consent. I seem to see her face now —
sad, serious, beautiful, and with an indescribable
imprint of adoration, grief, love, and a sort of de-
spair. She uttered monosyllabic words, did not
raise her eyes, and only smiled— submissively and
obstinately. From that smile alone I recognised
my former Zinaida. My father shrugged his
shoulders, and set his hat straight on his head —
which was always a sign of impatience with him.
. . . Then the words became audible: ^' Vous devez
vous sSparer de cettef' .... Zinaida drew her-
self up and stretched out her hand Sud-
denly, before my very eyes, an incredible thing
came to pass:— all at once, my father raised the \
riding-whip, with which he had been lashing the

lai

FIRST LOVE

dust from his coat-tails,— and the sound of a \

sharp blow on that arm, whiqh was bare toJhe ■

elbow, rang out. I could hardly keep J^mp
shrieking, but Zinaida started, gazed in silence at ■
my father, and slowly raising her arm to her lips, |
kissed the mark which glowed scarlet upon it. j

My father hurled his riding-whip from him, i
and running hastily up the steps of the porch, i
burst into the house. . . . Zinaida turned round, . ^
and stretching out her arms, and throwing back
her head, she also quitted the window. j

My heart swooning with terror, and with a sort
of alarmed perplexity, I darted backward; and
dashing through the alley, and almost letting go
of Electric, I returned to the bank of the river. . .
I could understand nothing. I knew that my cold
and self-contained father was sometimes seized
by fits of wild fury; and yet I could not in the
least comprehend what I had seen. . . . But I
immediately felt that no matter how long I might •
live, it would be impossible for me ever to forget
that movement, Zinaida's glance and smile; that
her image, that new image which had suddenly
been presented to me, had forever imprinted itself
on my memory. I stared stupidly at the river and -
ffid not notice that my tears were flowing. " She
is being beaten,"— I thought. ..." She is being
beaten .... beaten . . . ."

" Come, what ails thee?— Give me my horse! "
— rang out my father's voice behind me.

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I mechanically gave him the bridle. He
sprang upon Electric .... the half -frozen
horse reared on his hind legs and leaped forward
half a fathom .... but my father speedily got
him under control; he dug his spurs into his
flanks and beat him on the neck with his fist. . . .
" Ekh, I have no whip,"— he muttered.

I remembered the recent swish through the air
and the blow of that same whip, and shuddered.

" What hast thou done with it? "—I asked my
father, after waiting a little.

My father did not answer me and galloped on.
I dashed after him. I was determined to get a
look at his face.

"Didst thou get bored in my absence?''— he
said through his teeth.

" A little. But where didst thou drop thy
whip? "—I asked him again.

My father shot a swift glance at me.—" I did
not drop it,"— he said,—" I threw it away."— He
reflected for a space and dropped his head ....
and then, for the first and probably for the last
time, I saw how much tenderness and compunc-
tion his stem features were capable of express-
ing.

He set off again at a gallop, and this time I
could not keep up with him; I reached home a
quarter of an hour after him.

" That 's what love is,"— I said to myself
again, as I sat at night before my writing-table,

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FIRST LOVE

on which copy-books and text-books had abeady
begun to make their appearance,—" that is what
passion is 1 .... JIow is it possible not to revolt, ^
how is it possible to endure a blow from any one
^bmsoever .... even from thi5 hand that is |
most dear? But evidently itxsaa be dime if ooe \
IS in love. . . . And I . . u . I imagined . . . ."
"''The last month had agfed-Tne^greatly, and my
love, with all its agitations and sufferings, seemed
to me like something very petty and childish and
wretched in comparison with that other unknown
something at which I could hardly even guess,
and which frightened me like a strange, beauti- |
ful but menacing face that one strives, in vain,
toget-a good look at in the semi-darkness. . . .
^ That pight I had a strange and dreadful
ptt^I thought I was entering a low, dark
room My father was standing there, rid-
ing-whip in hand, and stamping his feet; Zinaida
was crouching in one comer and had a red mark,
not on her arm, but on her forehead .... and
behind the two rose up Byelovzoroff, all bathed
in blood, with his pale hps open, and wrathf uUy
menacing my father.

Two months later I entered the university, and
six months afterward my father died (of an apo-
plectic stroke) in Petersburg, whither he had just
removed with my mother and myself. A few
days before his death my father had received a
letter from Moscow which had agitated him ex-

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tremely. . . . He went to beg something of my
mother and, I was told, even wept,— he, my fa-
ther 1 On the very morning of the day on which
he had the stroke, he had begmi a letter to me in
the French language: "My son,"— he wrote to
me,—" fear the love of women, fear that happi-
ness, that poison . . . ." After his death my mo-
ther sent a very considerable simi of money to
Moscow.

XXII

FouE years passed. I had but just left the uni-
versity, and did not yet quite know what to do with
myself, at what door to knock; in the meanwhile,
I was lounging about without occupation. One
fine evening I encountered Maidanoff in the
theatre. He had contrived to marry and enter the
government service ; but I found him unchanged.
He went into unnecessary raptures, just as of
old, and became low-spirited as suddenly as ever.

" You know,"— he said to me,—" by the way,
that Madame Dolsky is here.**

" WTiat Madame Dolsky? ''

" Is it possible that you have forgotten? The
former Princess Zasyekin, with whom we were
all in love, you included. At the villa, near Nes-
kutchny Park, you remember? "

" Did she marry Dolsky? **

" Yes."

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" And is she here in the theatre? *'

"No, in Petersburg; she arrived here a few.
days ago; she is preparing to go abroad.

"What sort of a man is her husband?" — I
asked.

" A very fine young fellow and wealthy. He 's
my comrade in the service, a Moscow man. You
understand— after that scandal .... you must
be well acquainted with all that . . . ." (Mai-
ddnoff smiled significantly) , " it was not easy for j
her to find a husband; there were consequences j
.... but with her brains everything is possible. 1
iGrO to her; she will be delighted to see you. She
is handsomer than ever."

Maiddnofi^ gave me Zinaida's address. She
was stopping in the Hotel Demuth. Old memo-
ries began to stir in me. ... I promised myself
that I would call upon my former " passion '^the
next day. But certain afi^airs turned up; a week
elapsed, and when, at last, I betook my^self to the
Hotel Demuth and inquired for Madame Dolsky
I learned that she had died four days previously,
almost suddenly, in childbirth.

Something seemed to deal me a blow in the
heart. The thought that I might have seen her
but had not, and that I should nevezsee her,— that
bitter thought seized upon m^ with ^11 the force
of irresistible reproach. /^Dead!"^I repeated,
staring dully at the do^'-porjter, then quietly
made my way to the street anS^alked away,with-

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\ out knowing whither. The whole past surged up

^ i at one blow and stood before me. And now this
\ > ' was the way it had ended, this was the goal of that
\ ^ .young, fiery, brilliant life? I thought that— I

\K pictured to myself those dear features, those eyes,

i those curls in the narrow box, in the damp, under-

ground gloom,— right there, not far from me,
who was still alive, and, perchance, only a few
I paces from my father. ... I thought all that,

j I strained my imagination, and yet—

j From a mouth indifferent I heard the news of death,

; ' And with indifference did I receive it —

/ resounded through my soul. O youth, youth!

. Thou carest for nothing: thou possessest, as it

were, all the treasures of the universe ; even sor-

\ row comforts thee, even melancholy becomes thee ;

} thou are self-confident and audacious; thou say-

est: "I alone live— behold! "—But the days

speed on and vanish without a trace and without

reckoning, and everything vanishes in thee, like

wax in the sun, like snow. . . . And perchance

the whole secret of thy charm consi s t s n ot in iJiie^

5 power to do everything, but in^4he possibilit y ujfcfL

' thinking that thou wilt do everyfeing— consists

precisely in the fact that thou scatterest to the

winds thy powers which thou hast not understood

how to employ in any other way,— in the fact that

each one of us seriously regards himself as a

prodigal, seriously assumes that he has a right to

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say: " Oh, what could I not have done, had I not
wasted my time I "

And I myself . . . what did I hope for, what
did I expect, what rich.future did I foresee, when
I barely accompanied with a single sigh, with
a single moiunful emotion, the spectre of my
first love which had arisen for a brief moment?

And what has come to pass of all for which I
hoped? Even now, when the shades of evening
are beginning to close in upon my life, what is
there that has remained for me fresher, more
precious than them emoryof that m orning sprin g //
thunder-storm w hicITsped so swiTtly past? '

But I calumniate myself without cause. Even
then, at that frivolous, youthful epoch, I did not
i:emaia.deaf to the sorrowful voice which re-
sponded within me to the triumphant sound!
which was wafted to me from beyond the grave. \
I remember that a few days after I learned of
Zinaida's death I was present, by my ownJiyre-' Vy
sistihlfiJoA^ng, at the death-bed of a poor old
woman who lived in the same house with us.
Covered with rags, with a sack under her head,
she died heavily and with difficulty. Her whole
life had been passed in a bitter struggle with daily
wantT>she had seen no joy, she had not tasted the
nonejidof happiness— it seemed as though she
could not have failed to rejoice at death, at her
release, her repose. But nevertheless, as long as
her decrepit body held out, as long as her breast

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heaved under the icy hand which was/ laid upon it,
until her last strength deserted her l the old wo-
man kept crossing herself and whisi^ering:— " O
Lord, forgive my sins,"— and oaty yi ^the las t
spark of f*9-ngnousnp.s.s did th^re Tamid»>J£om^r
eyes the expression of fear and horxatLftt Jierjap-
; proa ching end . And I remember that there, by
the bedside of t hat poor old womaiii I -Jleltteiyi-
fied for l^inaida, And f'elt like prajdng fgrlfer^for
my father— and for myself.

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(1855)

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SEVERAL years ago I was in Dresden. I
stopped in the hotel. As I was running
about the town from early morning until late at
night, I did not consider it necessary to make ac-
quaintance with my neighbours; at last, acciden-
tally, it came to my knowledge that there was a
sick Russian in the house. I went to him, and
found a man in the last stage of consumption.
Dresden was beginning to pall upon me ; I settled
down with my new acquaintance. It is wearisome
to sit with an invaUd, but even boredom is agree-
able sometimes; moreover, my invalid was not de-
jected, and liked to chat. We endeavoured, in
every way, to kill time: we played "fool" to-
gether, we jeered at the doctor. My compatriot
narrated to that very bald German divers fictions
about his own condition, which the doctor always
"had long foreseen"; he mimicked him when he
was surprised at any unprecedented attack, flung
his medicine out of the window, and so forth.

Nevertheless I repeatedly remarked to my
friend that it would not be a bad idea to send for
a good physician before it was too late, that his
malady was not to be jested with, and so forth.

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But Alexyei (my acquaintance's name was Alex-
yei Petrovitch S***) put me off every time with
jests about all doctors in general, and his own in
particular, and at last, one stormy autumn even-
ing, to my importimate entreaties, he replied with
such a dejected glance, he shook his head so sadly,
and smiled so strangely, that I felt a certain sur-
prise. That same night Alexyei grew worse, and
on the following day he died. Just before his
death his customary cheerfulness deserted him: he
tossed uneasily in the bed, sighed, gazed anx-
iously about .... grasped my hand, whispered
with an effort: " 'T is difficult to die, you know,"
.... dropped his head on the pillow, and burst
into tears. I did not know what to say to him,
and sat silently beside his bed. But Alexyei
speedily conquered this last, belated compassion.
..." Listen," he said to me:—" our doctor will
come to-day, and will find me dead. .... I can
imagine his phiz" .... and the dying man

tried to mimic him He requested me to

send all his things to Russia, to his relatives, with
the exception of a small packet, which he pre-
sented to me as a souvenir.

This packet contained letters— the letters of a
young girl to Alexyei and his letters to her.
There were fifteen of them in all. Alexyei Pe-
trovitch S*** had known Marya Alexandrovna
B*** for a long time — from childhood, appar-
ently. Alexyei Petrovitch had a cousin, and Md-

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rya Alexandrovna had a sister. In earlier years
they had all lived together, then they had dis-
persed, and had not met again for a long time;
then they had accidentally all assembled again in
the country, in simmier, and had fallen in love—
Alexyei's cousin with Marya Alexandrovna, and
Alexyei himself with the latter's sister. Summer
passed and autumn came; they parted. Alexyei
being a sensible man, speedily became convinced
that he was not in the least beloved, and parted
from his beauty very happily; his cousin corre-
sponded with Marya Alexandrovna for a couple
of years longer .... but even he divined, at last,
that he was deceiving both her and himself in the
most imconscionable manner, and he also fell
silent.

I should like to tell you a little about Marya
Alexandrovna, dear reader, but you will learn to
know her for yourself from her letters. Alexyei
wrote his first letter to her soon after her defini-
tive breach with his cousin. He was in Peters-
burg at the time, suddenly went abroad, fell ill in
Dresden and died. I have decided to publish his
correspondence with Marya Alexandrovna, and
I hope for some indulgence on the part of the
reader, because these are not love-letters— God
forbid 1 Love-letters are generally read by two
persons only (but, on the other hand, a thousand
times in succession), and are intolerable, if not
ridiculous, to a third person.

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From Alexyei Petrdvitch to Mdrya
Alexdndrovna

St, Petersburg, March 7, 1840.
My dear Marya AlexandrovnaI

I have never yet written to you a single time, I
think, and here I am writing now. ... I have
chosen a strange time, have I not? This is what
has prompted me to it: Mon cousin Theodore has
been to see me to-day, and— how shall I say it?
.... and has informed me, in the strictest pri-
vacy (he never imparts anything in any other
way) , that he is in love with the daughter of some
gentleman here, and this time is bent on marrying
without fail, and that he has already taken the
first step— he has explained his intentions! As
a matter of course, I hastened to congratulate
him on an event so pleasant for him; he has long
stood in need of an explanation .... but in-
wardly I was, I confess, somewhat amazed. Al-
though I knew that everything was over between
you, yet it seemed to me .... In a word, I was
amazed. I was preparing to go out visiting to-
day, but I have remained at home, and intend to
have a little chat with you. If you do not care to
listen to me, throw this letter into the fire imme-
diately. I declare to you that I wish to be frank,

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although I feel that you have a perfect right to
take me for a decidedly-intrusive man. Observe,
however, that I would not have taken pen in hand
if I had not known that your sister is not with
you: Theodore told me that she will be away all
summer visiting your aunt, Madame B***. May
God grant her all good things!

So, then, this is the way it has all turned out. . .
But I shall not offer you my friendship, and so
forth; in general, I avoid solemn speeches, and
"intimate " effusions. In beginning to write this
letter, I have simply obeyed some momentary
impulse: if any other feeling is hiding within me,
let it remain hidden from sight for the present.

Neither shall I attempt to console you. In
consoling others, people generally desire to rid
themselves, as speedily as possible, of the un-
pleasant feeling of involuntary, self -conceited

compassion I understand sincere, warm

sympathy .... but such sympathy is not to be
got from every one. . . . Please be angry with
me. . . If you are angry, you will probably read
my epistle to the end.

But what right have I to write to you, to talk
about my friendship, my feelings, about consola-
tion? None whatever— positively, none what-
ever; and I am bound to admit that, and I rely
solely upon your kindness.

Do you know what the beginning of my letter
resembles? This : a certain Mr. N. N. entered the

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drawing-room of a lady who was not in the least
expecting him,— who, perhaps, was expecting
another man. . . . He divined that he had come
at the wrong time, but there was nothing to be
done. . . . He sat down, and began to talk ....
G!od knows what about: poetry, the beauties of
nature, the advantages of a good education ....
in a word, he talked the most frightful nonsense.
. . . But in the meanwhile the first five minutes
had elapsed; he sat on; the lady resigned herself
to her fate, and lol Mr. N. N. recovered himself,
sighed, and began to converse — to the best of his
ability.

But, despite all this idle chatter, I feel some-
what awkward, nevertheless. I seem to see be-
fore me your perplexed, even somewhat angry
face: I feel conscious that it is almost impos-
sible for you not to assume that I have some se-
cret intentions or other, and therefore, having
perpetrated a piece of folly, like a Roman I wrap
myself in my toga and await in silence your
ultimate condenmation. . . •

But, in particular: Will you permit me to con-
tinue to write to you?

I remain sincerely and cordially your devoted
servant—

AliEXYEI S***.

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From Mdrya Alexdndrovna to AleayyH
Petrdvitch

Village of • • . • no, March 22, 1840.

Deab Sib I
Alexyei Petrovitch!

I have received your letter, and really, I do not
know what to say to you. I would even not have
answered you at all had it not seemed to me that
beneath your jests was concealed a decidedly-
friendly sentiment. Your letter has produced an
unpleasant impression on me. In reply to your
" idle chatter," as you put it, permit me also to
propound to you one question: To what end?
What have you to do with me, what have I to do
with you? I do not assume any evil intentions on
your part, .... on the contrary, I am grateful
to you for your sympathy, .... but we are
strangers to each other, and I now, at all events,
feel not the slightest desire to become intimate
with any one whomsoever.

With sincere respects I remain, and so forth,

Maeya B***.

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III

From AlexyH Petrdvitch to Mdrya
Alexdndroxma

St. Petersburg, March 80.

I thank you, Mdrya Alexdndrovna, I thank
you for your note, curt as it is. All this time I
have been in a state of great agitation; twenty
times a day I have thought of you and of my let-
ter. You can imagine how caustically I have
laughed at myself; but now I am in a capital
frame of mind, and am patting myself on the
head. Marya Alexandrovna, I am entering into
correspondence with you! Confess that you
could not possibly have expected that after your
reply; I am amazed at my own audacity • . • .
never mind I But calm yourself: I want to
talk to you not about myself, but about you.
Here, do you see: I find it imperatively necessary
—to speak in antiquated style — to express my-
self to some one. I have no right to select you
for my confidante— I admit that; but hearken: I
demand from you no reply to my epistles; I do
not even wish to know whether you will peruse
my " idle chatter," but do not send me back my
letters, in the name of all that is holy!

Listen— I am utterly alone on earth. In my
youth I led a solitary life, although, I remember,

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I never pretended to be a Byron; but, in the first
place, circumstances, in the second place, the
ability to dream and a love for reverie, rather cold
blood, pride, indolence— in a word, a multitude of
varied causes alienated me from the society of
men. The transition from a dreamy to an active
life was effected in me late . • . perhaps too
late, perhaps to this day not completely. So long
as my own thoughts and feelings diverted me, so
long as I was capable of surrendering myself to
causeless silent raptures, and so forth, I did not
complain of my isolation. I had no comrades— I
did have so-called friends. Sometimes I needed
their presence as an electrical machine needs a dis-
charger—that was all. Love .... we will be
silent on that subject for the present. But now,
I confess, now loneliness weighs upon me, and
yet I see no escape from my situation. I do not
blame Fate; I alone am to blame, and I am justly
chastised. In my youth one thing alone interested
me: my charming ego; I took my good-natured
self-love for shyness; I shunned society, and lo!
now I am frightfully bored with myself. What
is to become of me? I love no one ; all my friend-
ships with other people are, somehow, strained and
false; and I have no memories, because in all my
past life, I find nothing except* my own self.
Save me! I have not made you enthusiastic vows
of love; I have not deafened you with a torrent
of chattering speeches; I have passed you by

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with considerable coldness, and precisely for that
reason I have made up my mind now to have
recourse to you. (I had thought of this even

earlier, but you were not free then )

Out of all my self-made joys and sufferings, the
sole genuine feeling was the small, but involun-
tary attraction to you, which withered then, like a
solitary ear of grain amid worthless weeds. . . .
Allow me, at least, to look into another face, an-
other soul,— my own face has grown repugnant to
me; I am like a man who has been condenmed to
live out his entire life in a room with walls made
of mirrors. ... I do not demand any confes-
sions from you— oh, heavens, no! Grant me the
speechless sympathy of a sister, or at least the
simple curiosity of a reader— I will interest you,
really, I will.

At any rate, I have the honour to be your sin-
cere friend, .

A-S-

From AlexySi Petrdvitch to Mdrya
Alexdndrovna

Petersburg, April 7th.

I write agaiA to you, although I foresee that,

without your approval, I shall speedily hold my

peace. I must admit that you cannot fail to feel

a certain distrust of me. What of that ? Perhaps

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you are right. Formerly I would have declared
to you (and, probably, would have believed my
own words) that, since we parted, I had " devel-
oped," had advanced; with condescending, almost
affectionate scorn I would have referred to my
past; with touching boastfulness I would have
initiated you into the secrets of my present, active
life . • . . but now, I assure you, Marya Ale-
xdndrovna, I consider it shameful and disgusting
to allude to the way in which my vile self-love
once on a time fermented and amused itself.
Fear not: I shall not force upon you any great
truths, any profound views; I have none— none
of those truths and views. I have become a nice
fellow,— truly I have. I 'm bored, Marya Ale-
xdndrovna— so bored that I can endure it no
longer. That is why I am writing to you. • . .
Really, it seems to me that we can come to an

agreement

However, I positively am in no condition to
talk to you until you stretch out your hand to me,
until I receive from you a note with the one word
" Yes."— Marya Alexdndrovna, will you hear
me out?— that is the question.

Yours truly,

A- S.

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From Mdrya AUxdndrovna to AleouySi
Petrdvitch

Village of ... . no, April 14.
What a strange man you are I Well, then-

"yes."

Maeya B***.

From Alewyei Petrdvitch to Mdrya
Alewdndrovna

Petersburg, May 2, 1840.

Hurrah I Thanks, Marya Alexandrovna,
thanks! You are a very kind and indulgent
being.

I begin, according to my promise, to speak of
myself, and I shall speak with pleasure, verging
on appetite. . . . Precisely that. One may talk
of everything in the world with fervour, with rap-
ture, with enthusiasm, but only of one's self can
one talk with appetite.

Listen: an extremely strange incident hap-
pened to me the other day: I took a glance at my
past for the first time. You will understand me:
every one of us frequently recalls the past— with

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compunction or with vexation, or simply for the
lack of something to do; but only at a certain age
can one cast a cold, clear glance at his whole past
life— as a traveller, turning round, gazes from a
lofty mountain upon the plain which he has tra-
versed • . . . and a secret chill grips the heart of
a man when this happens to him for the first time.
At any rate, my heart contracted with pain. So
long as we are young, that sort of looking back-
ward is impossible. But my youth is over— and,
like the traveller on the mountain, everything has
become clearly visible to me. ...

Yes, my youth is gone, gone irrevocably! . . .
Here it lies before me, all of it, as though in the
palm of my hand. ...

'T is not a cheerful spectacle I I confess to you,
Marya Alexandrovna, that I am very sorry for
myself. My God I My God! Is it possible that
I myself have ruined my own life to such a de-
gree, have so ruthlessly entangled and tortured
myself? . . . Now I have come to my senses, but
it is too late. Have you ever rescued a fly from
a spider? You have? Do you remember, you
placed it in the sunshine; its wings, its legs were
stuck together, glued fast. . . . How awk-
wardly it moved, how clmnsily it tried to clean
itself I . . . After long-continued eff^orts, it got
itself to rights, after a fashion; it crawled, it
tried to put its wings in order .... but it could
not walk as it formerly did; it could not buzz,

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care-free, in the sunshine, now flying through an
open window into a cool room, again fluttering
freely out into the hot air. ... It, at all events,
did not fall into the dreadful net of its own free
will .... but 1 1

I was my own spider.

And, nevertheless, I cannot blame myself so
very much. Yes, and who— tell me, for mercy's
sake— who ever was to blame for anything—
alone? Or, to put it more accurately, we are all
to blame, yet it is impossible to blame us. Cir-
cumstances settle our fate: they thrust us into this
road or that, and then they pimish us. Every man
has his fate. . . . Wait, wait! There occurs to
my mind on this score an artfully-constructed but
just comparison. As clouds are first formed by
the exhalations from the earth, rise up from its
bosom, then separate themselves from it, withdraw
from it, and bear over it either blessings or ruin,
just so around each one of us and from us our-
selves is formed— how shall I express it?— is
formed a sort of atmosphere which afterward
acts destructively or salutarily upon us ourselves.
This I call Fate. ... In other words, and to
put it simply: each person makes his own fate,
and it makes each person. . . .

Each person makes his own fate— yes! . . .
but our brethren make it far too much— which
constitutes our calamity! Consciousness is
aroused in us too early; too early do we begin to

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observe ourselves. • . . We Russians have no
other life-problem than the cultivation of our per-
sonality, and here we, barely adult children, al-
ready undertake to cultivate it, this our unhappy
personality! Without having received from
within any definite direction, in reality respect-
ing nothing, believing firmly in nothing, we are
free to make of ourselves whatsoever we will.
. • . . But it is impossible to demand of every
man that he shall immediately comprehend the
sterility of a mind, " seething in empty activ-
ity *'•.. . and so, there is one more monster
in the world, one more of those insignifi-
cant beings in which the habits of self-love dis-
tort the very striving after truth, and ridiculous
ingenuousness lives side by side with pitiful
guile .... one of those beings to whose impo-
tent, uneasy thought there remains forever un-
known either the satisfaction of natural activity,
or the genuine suffering, or the genuine triumph
of conviction. . . . Combining in itself the de-
fects of all ages, we deprive each defect of its
good, its redeeming side. . . . We are as stupid
as children, but we are not sincere like them; we
are as cold as old men, but the common sense of
old age is not in us. • • On the other hand, we are
psychologists. Oh, yes, we are great psychologists!
But our psychology strays off into pathology ; our
psychology is au artful study of the laws of a dis-
card condition and a diseased development, with

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which healthy people have no concern. . . . But
the chief thing is, we are not young,— in youth
itself we are not young!

And yet— why calumniate one's self? Have we
really never been young? Have the vital forces
never sparkled, never seethed, never quivered in
us? Yet we have been in Arcadia, and we have
roved its bright meads 1 . . . Have you ever hap-
pened, while strolling among bushes, to hit upon
those dark-hued harvest-flies, which, springing
out from under your very feet, suddenly expand
their bright red wings with a clatter, flutter on a
few paces, and then tumble into the grass again?
Just so did our dark youth sometimies expand its
gaily-coloured little wings for a few moments,
and a brief flight. . . . Do you remember our
silent evening rambles, the four of us together,
along the fence of your park, after some long,
warm, animated conversation? Do you remem-
ber those gracious moments? Nature received
us aff^ectionately and majestically into her lap.
We entered, with sinking heart, into some sort of
blissful waves. Round about the glow of sunset
kindled with sudden and tender crimson; from
the crimsoning sky, from the illuminated earth,
from everywhere, it seemed as though the fresh
and fiery breath of youth were wafted abroad,
and the joyous triumph of some immortal happi-
ness; the sunset glow blazed; like it, softly and
passionately blazed our enraptured hearts, and

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the tiny leaves of the young trees quivered sen-
sitively and confusedly above us, as though re-
plying to the inward tremulousness of the indis-
tinct feelings and anticipations within us. Do
you remember that purity, that kindness and
trustfulness of ideas, that emotion of noble hopes,
that silence of plenitude? Can it be that we were
not then worthy of something better than that
to which life has conducted us? Why have we
been fated only at rare intervals to catch sight
of the longed-for shore, and never to stand
thereon with firm foothold, never to touch it—

Not to weep sweetly, like the first of the Jews
On the borders of the Promised Land ?

These two lines of Fet ^ have reminded me of
others,— also by him. . . . Do you remember
how one day, as we were standing in the road, we
beheld in the distance a cloud of rosy dust, raised
by a light breeze, against the setting sun? " In
a billowy cloud " you began, and we all fell silent
on the instant, and set to listening:

In a billowy cloud
The dust rises in the distance. . . .
Whether horseman or pedestrian —
Cannot be descried for the dust.

^ Afanftsy Afan^ievitch Sh^nshin (1890-1893) always wrote
under this name.— Thanslator.

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I see some one galloping
On a spirited steed. . . .
My friend, my distant friend —
Remember me !

You ceased, . . . All of us fairly shuddered,
as though the breath of love had flitted over our
hearts, and each one of us— I am convinced of
that— longed inexpressibly to flee away in the
distance, that unknown distance, where the appa-
rition of bliss rises up and beckons athwart the
mist. And yet, observe this odd thing: why
should we reach out into the distance?— we
thought. Were not we in love with each other?
Was not happiness " so near, so possible " ? And
I immediately asked you: "Why have not we
gained the shore we long for? " Because false-
hood was walking hand in hand with us; because
it was poisoning our best sentiments; because
everything in us was artificial and strained; be-
cause we did not love each other at all, and only
tried to love, imagined that we did love

But enough, enough 1 Why irritate one's
wounds? Moreover, all that is past irrevocably •
That which was good in our past has touched me,
and on this good I bid you farewell for the time
being. And it is time to end this long letter. I
will go and inhale the May air here, in which,
through the winter's stem fortress, the spring is
forcing its way with a sort of moist and keen
warmth. Farewell. A. S.

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iVII

From Mdrya Alexdndrovna to Alexyei
Petrovitch

Village of • ... no. May 20, 1840.

I have received your letter, Alexyei Petr6vitch,
and do you know what feeling it aroused in me?

— Indignation .... yes, indignation

and I will immediately explain to you why it
aroused precisely that feeling in me. One thing
is a pity: I am not a mistress of the pen— I rarely
write. I do not know how to express my
thoughts accurately and in a few words; but you
will, I hope, come to my aid. You yourself will
try to understand me: if only for the sake of
knowing why I am angry with you.

Tell me— you are a clever man— have you ever
asked yourself what sort of a creature a Russian
woman is? What is her fate, her position in
the world— in short, what her life is like? I do
not know whether you have ever had time to put
that question to yourself; I cannot imagine how
you would answer it. ... I might, in conversa-
tion, be able to communicate to you my ideas on
that subject, but I shall hardly manage it on
paper. However, it makes no difference. This
is the point: you surely will agree with me that
we women— at all events, those of us who are not

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satisfied with the ordinary cares of domestic life
—receive our final education, all the same, from
you— from the men: you have a great and pow-
erful influence on us. Look, now, at what you
do with us. I shall speak of the yoimg girls, es-
pecially of those who, like myself, dwell in the
dull places, and there are many such in Russia^
Moreover, I do not know others, and cannot
judge with regard to them. Figure to yourself
such a yoimg girl. Here, now, her education is
finished ; she is beginning to live, to amuse herself.
But amusement alone is not enough for her. She
demands a great deal from life ; she reads, dreams
.... of love.— " Always of love alone!" you
will say. . . . Let us assume that that word
means a great deal to her. I will say again that
I am not talking of the sort of girl who finds it
burdensome and tiresome to think. . . . She
looks about her, waits for the coming of him for

whom her soul pines At last he makes his

appearance: she is carried away; she is like soft
wax in his hands. Everything— happiness, and
love, and thought— everything has invaded her
together with him, all at once; all her tremors are
soothed, all her doubts are solved by him; truth
itself seems to speak by his mouth; she worships
him, she is ashamed of her happiness, she learns,
she loves. Great is his power over her at this
period! .... If he were a hero, he would kindle
her to flame, he would teach her to sacrifice her-

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self, and all sacrifices would be easy to her I But
there are no heroes in our day. . . . Neverthe-
less, he guides her whithersoever he will; she de-
votes herself to that which interests him, his every
word sinks into her soul: at that time, she does
not know, as yet, how insignificant and empty
and false that word may be, how little it costs
him who utters it, and how little faith it merits!
These first moments of bliss and hope are fol-
lowed, generally— according to circumstances—
(circumstances are always to blame)— are fol-
lowed by parting. It is said that there have been
cases where two kindred souls, on recognising
each other, have immediately united indissolubly;
I have heard, also, that they are not always com-
fortable as a result. • . . But I wiU not speak
of that which I have not myself beheld— but that
the very pettiest sort of calculation, the most
wof ul prudence, may dweU in a young heart side
by side with the most passionate rapture,— that
is a fact which, unhappily, I know by my own ex-
perience. So, then, parting comes. . . . Happy
is that young girl who instantly recognises that
the end of all has come, who does not comfort
herself with expectation! But you brave, just
men, in the majority of cases, have neither the
courage nor the desire to tell us the truth ....
you find it more easy to deceive us. ... I am
ready to believe, however, that you deceive your-
selves along with us. . . . Parting! It is both

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difficult and easy to endure parting. If only
faith in him whom one loves were intact and imas-
sailed, the soul would conquer the pain of part-
ing I will say more: only when she is left

alone does she learn the sweetness of solitude, not
sterile but filled with memories and thoughts.
Only then will she learn to know herself —will she

come to herself, will she grow strong In the

letters of the distant friend she will find a support
for herself; in her own she will, perhaps, for the
first time, express her mind fully. . . . But as two
persons who have started from the source of a
river along its different banks can, at first, clasp
hands, then hold communication only with the
voice, but ultimately lose sight of each other: so
also two beings are ultimately disjoined by sepa-
ration. "What of that?" you will say: "evidently
they were not fated to go together. . . ." But
here comes in the difference between a man and
a woman. It signifies nothing to a man to begin
a new life, to shake far from him the past; a
woman cannot do that. No, she cannot cast aside
her past, she cannot tear herself away from her
roots— no, a thousand times no! And so, a piti-
ful and ridiculous spectacle presents itself. • . .
Gradually losing hope and faith in herself,— you
can form no idea of how painful that is, — she
will pine away and fade alone, obstinately cling-
ing to her memories, and turning away from

everything which life around her offers

And he? ... . Seek him! Where is he? And

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is it worth while for him to pause? What time
has he for looking back? All this is a thing of
the past for him, you see.

Or here is another thing which happens: it
sometimes happens that he will suddenly conceive
a desire to meet the former object of his affec-
tions, he will even deliberately go to her. . . . But,
my God! from what a motive of petty vain-glory
he does it! In his polite compassion, in his coun-
sels which are intended to be friendly, in his
condescending explanations of the past, there is
audible such a consciousness of his own superior-
ity! It is so agreeable and cheerful a thing for
him to let himself feel every minute how sensible
and kind he is! And how little he understands
what he is doing ! How well he manages not even
to guess at what is going on in the woman's heart,
and how insultingly he pities her, if he does guess
iti . . .

Tell me, please, whence are we to get the
strength to endure all this? Remember this, too:
in the majority of cases, a girl who, to her mis-
f ortime, has an idea beginning to stir in her head,
when she begins to love, and falls under the influ-
ence of a man, involuntarily separates herself
from her family, from her acquaintances. Even
previously she has not been satisfied with their
life, yet she has walked on by their side, preserv-
ing in her soul all her intimate secrets. . . . But the
breach speedily makes itself visible. . . • They
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every movement of hers. • . . At first she pays
no heed to this, but afterward, afterward ....
when she is left alone, when that toward which she
has been striving and for which she has sacrificed
everything escapes her grasp, when she has not
attained to heaven, but when every near thing,
every possible thing, has retreated far from her
—what shall uphold her? Sneers, hints, the vul-
gar triumph of coarse conmion sense she can
still bear, after a fashion .... but what is she
to do, to what is she to have recourse, when the
inward voice begins to whisper to her that all
those people were right, and that she has been
mistaken; that life, of whatever sort it may be,
is better than dreams, as health is better than dis-
ease .... when her favourite occupations, her
favourite books,- disgust her, the books from
which one cannot extract happiness,— what, say
you,— what shall uphold her? How is she to help
succimabing in such a struggle? How is she to
live and to go on living in such a wilderness?
Confess herself vanquished, and extend her hand
like a beggar to indifferent people? Will not
they give her at least some of that happiness with
which the proud heart once imagined that it could
dispense— all that is nothing as yet! But to feel
one's self ridiculous at the very moment when one
is shedding bitter, bitter tears .... akhl God
forbid that you should go through that experi-
ence! ....

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My hands are trembling, and I am in a fever
all over. . . • My face is burning hot. It is time
for me to stop. • . . I shall send off this letter as
speedily as possible, while I am not ashamed of
my weakness. But, for God's sake, not a word in
your reply— do you hear me?— not a word of
pity, or I will never write to you again. Under-
stand me: I should not like to have you take this
letter as the outpouring of a misunderstood soul
which is making complaint. . . Akh! it is all a
matter of indifference tome! Farewell.

VIII

'From AlewySi Petrovitch to Mdrya
Alexdndrovna

St. Petersbueg, May 28, 1840.
Marya Alexandrovna, you are a fine creature
.... indeed you are . . . your letter has disclosed to
me the truth at last I O Lord my God I what tor-
ture! A man is constantly thinking that now he
has attained simplicity, no longer shows off, puts
on airs, or lies .... but when you come to look
at him more attentively, he has become almost
worse than he was before. And this must be
noted: the man himself, alone that is to say, will
never attain to that consciousness, bestir himself
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fects, just as the blunted eye of the printer will
not detect errors: another, a fresher eye is re-
quired. I thank you, Marya Alexandrovna. . . .
You see, I am speaking to you of myself; I dare
not speak of you. • . . Akh, how ridiculous my
last letter seems to me now,— so eloquent and sen-
timental I Go on, I beg of you, with your confes-
sion; I have a premonition that you will be re-
lieved thereby, and it will be of great benefit to
me. Not without cause does the proverb say: "A
woman's wit is better than many thoughts "; and
a woman's heart is far more so— God is my wit-
ness that it is so I If women only knew how much
better, and more magnanimous, and clever— pre-
cisely that— clever they are than the men, they
would grow puffed up with pride, and get
spoiled: but, fortunately, they do not know that;
they do not know it because their thoughts have
not become accustomed to returning incessantly
to themselves, as have the thoughts of us men.
.They think little about themselves— that is their
weakness and their strength; therein lies the
whole secret— I will not say of our superiority,
but of our power. They squander their souls, as
a lavish heir squanders his father's gold, but we
collect interest from every look. . . . How can
they enter into rivalry with us? . . . All this is
not compliments, but the simple truth, demon-
strated by experience. Again I entreat you,
Marya Alexandrovna, to continue writing to me*

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... If you only knew all that comes into my
mind! . . But now I do not want to talk, I want
to listen to you. . . . My speech will come later
on. Write, write.

Yours truly,
A. S.

iFrom Mdrya AUxdndrovna to lAlexyH
Petrdvitch

Village of ... . no, June 12, 1840.

No sooner had I despatched my last letter to
you, Alexyei Petrovitch, than I repented of it;
but there was no help for it. One thing somewhat
soothed me: I am convinced that you have under-
stood imder the influence of what long-sup-
pressed feelings it was written, and have forgiven
me. I did not even read over at the time what I
had written to you; I remember that my heart
was beating so violently that my pen trembled in
my hand. However, although I probably should
have expressed myself differently if I had given
myself time to think it over, still I have no inten-
tion of disclaiming either my words or the feel-
ings which I have imparted to you to the best of
my ability. To-day I am much more cool-headed,
and have far better control over myself. . . .

I remember that I spoke toward the end of my
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letter about the painful situation of the young
girl who recognises the fact that she is isolated
even among her own people. ... I will not en-
large further on that point, but rather will I com-
municate to you a few details ; it seems to me that
I shall bore you less in that way.

In the first place, you must know that through-
out the whole country-side I am not called any-
thing but " the female philosopher " ; the ladies,
in particular, allude to me by that name. Some
assert that I sleep with a Latin book in my
hands and in spectacles; others, that I know
how to extract some cubic roots or other: not
one of them cherishes any doubt that I wear
masculine attire on the sly, and that instead of
" good morning," I say abruptly: " Georges
Sand!"— and indignation against "the female
philosopher" is on the increase. We have a
neighbour, a man of five-and-forty, a great wit,
.... at least, he has the reputation of being a
great wit, .... and for him my poor person is
an inexhaustible subject for jeers. He has re-
lated, concerning me, that as soon as the moon
rises in the sky, I cannot take my eyes from it,
and he shows how I look; that I even drink coffee
not with cream but with the moon, that is to say,
I set my cup in its rays. He swears that I use
phrases in the nature of the following: "That
is easy because it is difficult; although, on the
other hand, it is difficult because it is easy.'*

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. . . He declares that I am always seeking some
word or other, always yearning " thither," and
he inquires, with comic indignation: "Whither
is thither? Whither? " He has also set in cir-
culation about me a rumour to the effect that
I ride by night on horseback back and forth
through the ford of the river, singing the while
Schubert's " Serenade," or simply moaning:
"Beethoven, Beethoven!" as much as to say—
" She 's such a fiery old woman! " and so forth,
and so forth. Of coiu'se, all this immediately
reaches my ears. Perhaps this may surprise you;
but do not forget that four years have elapsed
since you have sojourned in these parts. Re-
member how every one gazed askance at us
then. . . . Now their turn has come. And all
this is nothing. I sometimes happen to hear
words which pierce my heart much more pain-
fully. I will not mention the fact that my poor,
good mother cannot possibly pardon me for your
cousin's indifference; but all my life runs through
the fire, as my old nurse expresses it. " Of
course,"— I hear constantly,— " how are we to
keep up with thee? We are plain folks, we are
guided only by conmion sense; but, after all, when
one comes to think of it, to what have all these
philosophisings and books and acquaintances
with learned people brought thee? " Perhaps
you remember my sister— not the one to whom
you were formerly not indifferent, but the other,

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the elder, who is married. Her husband, you will
remember, is a decidedly-ridiculous man; you
often used to make fun of him in those days. Yet
she is happy: the mother of a family, she loves her
husband, and her husband adores her. ... "I
am like aU the rest,"— she says to me sometimes;
— " but how about thee? " And she is right: I
envy her. ...

And nevertheless I feel that I should not like
to change places with her. Let them call me " a
female philosopher,'" "an eccentric," whatever
they choose— I shall remain faithful to the end
.... to what? — to an ideal, pray? Yes, to an
ideal. Yes, I shall remain faithful to the end to
that which first made my heart beat, — to that
which I have acknowledged and do acknowledge
to be the true, the good. If only my strength
does not fail me, if only my idol does not prove a
soulless block. . . .

If you really do feel friendship for me, if you
really have not forgotten me, you must help me;
you must disperse my doubts, strengthen my
beliefs. ...

But what aid can you render me? " All this is
nonsense, like the useless running of a squirrel on
a wheel," said my uncle to me yesterday— I think
you do not know him — a retired naval officer, and
a far from stupid man. "A husband, children, a
pot of buckwheat groats: to tend husband and
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what a woman needs/' . . . Tell me, he is right,
is he not?

If he really is right, I can still repair the past,
I can still get into the common rut. What else is
there for me to wait for? What is there to hope
for? In one of your letters, you spoke of. the
wings of youth. How often, how long they re-
main fettered! And then comes a time, when
they fall off; and it is no longer possible to raise
one's self above the earth, to soar heavenward.
Write to me.

Yours, M.

From ^Alexyei Petrovitch to Mdrya
Alexdndrovna

St. Petebsbueg, June 16, 1840.

I hasten to answer your letter, my dear Marya
Alexandrovna. I will confess to you that if it
were not for .... I will not say business— I
have none— if it were not for my being so stu-
pidly habituated to this place, I would go again
to you and would talk my fill, but on paper all
this comes out so coldly, in such a dead man-
ner. . . .

I repeat to you, Mdrya Alexandrovna: women
are better than men, and you ought to demon-
strate that in deed. Let us men fling aside our

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convictions, like a worn-out garment, or barter
them for a morsel of bread, or, in conclusion, let
them fall into the sleep which knows no waking,
and place over them, as over one formerly be-
loved, a tombstone, to which one goes only now
and then to pray— let us men do all that; but do
not you women be false to yourselves, do not be-
tray your ideal. . . . That word has become ri-
diculous. ... To be afraid of the ridiculous is
not to love the truth. It does happen, it is true,
that a stupid laugh will make the stupid man,
even good people, renounce a great deal ....
take for example the defence of an absent friend.
... I am guilty in that respect myself. But, I
repeat it, you women are better than we are. . . .
In trifles you are inclined to yield to us; but you
understand better than we do how to look the
devil straight in the eye. I shall give you neither
aid nor advice— how can I? and you do not need
it; but I do stretch forth my hand to you, and I
do say to you: " Have patience; fight until the
end; and know that, as a feeling, the conscious-
ness of a battle honourably waged almost tran-
scends the triumph of victory." .... The vic-
tory does not depend upon us.

Of course, from a certain point of view, your
uncle is right: family life is everything for a wo-
man; there is no other life for her.

But what does that prove? Only the Jesuits
assert that every means is good, if only one at-

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tains his end. It is not true! not true! It is an
indignity to enter a clean temple with feet soiled
with the mire of the road. At the end of your
letter there is a phrase which I do not like: you
want to get into the conmion rut. Look out— do
not make a misstep! Do not forget, moreover,
that it is impossible to efface the past; and strive
as you may, force yourself as you will, you cannot
make yourself your sister. You have ascended
above her. But your soul is broken, hers is intact.
You can lower yourself, bend down to her, but
nature will not resign her rights, and the broken
place will not grow together again. ...

You are afraid— let us speak without circum-
locution—you are afraid of remaining an old
maid. I know that you are already twenty-six
years old. As a matter of fact, the position of
old maids is not enviable: every one so gladly
laughs at them; every one notes their oddities and
their weaknesses with such unmagnanimous de-
light. But if you scan more closely any elderly
bachelor,— he deserves to have the finger of scorn
pointed at him also,— you will find in him cause to
laugh your fill. What is to be done? Happiness
is not to be captured by battle. But we must not
forget that not happiness but human dignity is
the chief goal of life.

You describe your position with great humour.
I well imderstand aU its bitterness; your position
may, I am sure, be called tragic. But you must

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know that you are not the only one who finds
herself in it: there is hardly any man of the pres-
ent day who does not find himself in it also. You
will say that that does not make it any the easier
for you; but what I think is that to suffer in
company with thousands is quite a different thing
from suffering alone. It is not a question of ego-
tism here, but of a feeling of universal necessity.
" All this is very fine, let us assume," you will
say, . . . "but, in point of fact, it is not appli-
cable to the case." Why is it not applicable? Up
to the present day I think, and I hope that I shall
never cease to think, that in God's world every-
thing honest, good, and true is applicable, and
sooner or later will be fulfilled; and not only will
be fulfilled, but is already being fulfilled, if each
one will only hold himself firmly in his place, will
not lose patience, will not desire the impossible,
but will act, so far as his strength permits. But
I think I have given myself up too much to ab-
stractions. I will defer the continuation of my
arguments imtil another letter; but I do not wish
to lay down my pen without having pressed your
hand warmly, very warmly, and wished you, with
all my soul, everything that is good on earth.

Yours, A. S.

P.S. By the way, you say that you have no-
thing to look forward to, nothing to hope for;
how do you know that, allow me to ask?

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iFrom Mdrya "jAlexdndrovna to "^AlexyH
Petrdvitch

Village of ... • no, June 80, 1840. ]
How grateful I am to you for your letter,
Alexyei Petroviteh! How much good it has done
me! I see that you really are a good and trust-
worthy man, and therefore I shall not dissimu-
late before you. I trust you. I know that you
will not make a bad use of my frankness and that
you will give me friendly advice. That is the
point.

You noticed at the end of my letter a phrase
which did not entirely please you. This is what
it referred to. There is a neighbour here ....
he was not here in your day, and you have not
seen him. He ... I might marry him, if I
wished; he is a man who is still young, cultiu'cd,
wealthy. There are no obstacles on the side of
my relatives; on the contrary, they— I know this
for certain— desire this marriage; he is a fine
man, and I think he loves me. • . • But he is so
languid and petty, all his desires are so narrow,
that I cannot help recognising my superiority
over him; he feels this, and seems to take delight
in it, and precisely that repels me from him; I
cannot respect him, although he has an excellent

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heart. What am I to do, tell me? Think for me
and write me your opinion sincerely.

But how grateful I am to you for your letter!
• . . Do you know, I have sometimes heen visited
by such bitter thoughts. . . . Do you know, I
have gone so far as almost to feel ashamed of
every— I will not say exalted— but of every
trustful feeling. 1 have shut my book in vexation
when it spoke of hope and happiness; I have
turned away from the cloudless sky, from the
fresh verdiu'e of the trees, from everything that
smiled and was glad. What a painful condition
this was! I say " was "... as though it had
passed!

I do not know whether it has passed; I know
that if it does not return I shall be indebted to
you for it. You see, Alexyei Petrovitch, how
much good you have done, perhaps without your-
self suspecting it! Now, in the very heart of
summer, the days are magnificent, the sky is blue,
bright. ... It cannot be more beautiful in Italy.
But you are sitting in a stifling and dusty town,
you are walking on the scorching pavements.
What possesses you to do it? You ought, at
least, to remove to a villa somewhere. They say
that beyond Peterhoff , on the seashore, there are
charming places.

I should like to write more to you, but it is im-
possible: such a sweet perfume has been wafted
up to me from the garden that I cannot remain

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in the house. I shall put on my hat and go for a
stroll. . . . Farewell until another time, kind
Alexyei Petrovitch.

Yours truly,

M. B.

P.S. I have forgotten to tell you .... just
imagine: that wit, of whom I recently wrote you,
—just imagine: he has made me a declaration of
love, and in the most fiery terms! At first I
thought that he was making fim of me; but he
wound up with a formal proposal. What do you
think of that, after all his calumnies? But he is
positively too old. Last night, to pique him, I
sat down at the piano in front of the open window
in the moonlight, and played Beethoven. It was
so delightful to me to feel its cold light on my
face, so consolatory to send forth upon the per-
fumed night air the noble sounds of music,
athwart which, at times, the song of the nightin-
gale was audible! It is a long time since I have
been so happy, but do you write to me concern-
ing the thing I asked you about in the beginmng
of my letter: it is very important.

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XII

From 'jileccyei Petrovitch to Mdrya
Alexdndrovna

St. Peteesbueg, July 8, 1840.

My dear Marya Alexandrovna, here is my
opinion in two words: throw both the old bachelor
and the young suitor overboard! There 's no use
in deliberating over this. Neither of them is
worthy of you— that is as clear as that twice two
are four. The young neighbour may be a good
man, but I throw him over! I am convinced that
you and he have nothing in conmion, and you can
imagine how cheerful it would be to live together!
And why be in a- hurry? Is it possible that a
woman like you— I have no intention of paying
compliments, and therefore will not enlarge fur-
ther—that such a woman as you should not
meet some one who will know how to appre-
ciate her? No, Marya Alexandrovna; heed me if
you really think that my advice is beneficial.

But confess that you found it pleasant to be-
hold that old calumniator at your feet! ... If
I had been in your place, I would have made him
sing Beethoven's "Adelaida** the whole night
through, staring at the moon the while.

But God be with them, with your admirers I It
is not of them that I wish to talk with you to-day.

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I am in a sort of half -irritated, half -agitated con-
dition to-day, as the result of a letter which I re-
ceived yesterday. I send you a copy of it. This
letter was written by one of my very old friends
and comrades in the service, a kind-hearted but
rather narrow-minded man. A couple of years
ago he went abroad, and up to the present he has
not written to me a single time. Here is his let-
ter. N.B. He is very far from bad-looking.

^^ Cher Alescis:

" I am in Naples. I am sitting in my chamber
on the Chiaja at the window. The weather is
wonderful. At first I gazed a long time at the
sea, then impatience seized upon me, and the bril-
liant idea of writing a letter to thee occurred to
me. I have always felt an affection for thee, my
dear friend,— Heaven is my witness that I have!
And now I should like to pour myself into thy
bosom ... I believe that is the way it is ex-
pressed in our elevated language. And the rea-
son I have been seized with impatience is that I
am expecting a woman; together we shall go to
Baise to eat oysters and oranges, to watch the
dark-brown shepherds in red nightcaps dance
the tarantella, to broil ourselves in the sunshine,
to watch the lizards — in a word, to enjoy life to
the full. My dear friend, I am so happy that I
am unable to express it to you. If I possessed thy
power with the pen, oh, what a picture I would

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draw before thine eyes! But, unfortunately, as
thou knowest, I am an illiterate man. The wo-
man for whom I am waiting, and who has already
made me constantly start and glance at the door,
loves me— and as for the way I love her, it seems
to me that even thou with thy eloquent pen couldst-
not describe that.

. " I must tell thee that I have known her for
the last three months, and ever since the very
first day of our acquaintance, my love has gone
on crescendo, in the shape of a chromatic scale,
ever higher and higher, and at the present mo-
ment it has already attained to the seventh
heaven. I am jesting, but, as a matter of fact,
my attachment to that woman is something ex-
traordinary, supernatural. Just imagine: I
hardly ever talk with her, but I stare at her in-
cessantly and laugh. I sit at her feet, I feel that
I am frightfully stupid and happy, simply un-
lawfully happy. It sometimes happens that she
lays her hand on my head. . . . And then, I
must tell thee, . . . but thou canst not under-
stand it; for thou art a philosopher, and have been
a philosopher all thy life. Her name is Nina,
Ninetta— as thou wilt; she is the daughter of a
wealthy merchant here. Beautiful as all thy Ra-
phaels; lively as powder, blithe, so clever that it is
positively amazing that she should have fallen in
love with such a fool as myself; she sings like a
bird, and her eyes—

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" Forgive me, pray, for thiswnvoluntary tirade.
... I thought the door creaked. . . • No, the
rogue has not come yet! Thou wilt ask me how
all this is going to end, and what I mean to do
with myself, and whether I shall remain here
long. I know nothing, and wish to know nothing,
ahout that, my dear fellow. What is to be will
be. . . . For if one is to pause and reason con-
stantly

" 'Tis she! .... She is running up the stairs
and singing. . . She has come*. . . Well, good-
by, my dear fellow. ... I 'm in no mood for
thee. Pardon me— it is she who has spattered
this letter aU over: she struck the paper with her
damp nosegay. At first she thought I was writ-
ing to a woman; but as soon as she found out that
it was to a man-friend, she bade me give you her
compliments, and inquire whether there are any
flowers in your country, and whether they are
fragrant. Well, good-by. ... If you could
only hear how she laughs! . . . Silver rings just
like that: and what goodness in every sound!—
One fairly wants to kiss her feet. Let us go, let
us go! Be not angry at this untidy scrawl, and
envy thy—

M . • •"

The letter actually was bespattered, and ex-
haled an odour of orange-flowers . . . two white
petals had adhered to the paper. This letter has

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excited me. ... I have called to mind my so-
journ in Naples. . . . The weather was magnifi-
cent then also; May was only just beginning; I
had recently completed my twenty-second year;
but I did not know any Ninetta. I roamed about
alone, consimied with a thirst for bliss, which was
both painful and sweet,— sweet to the point where
it itself bore a sort of resemblance to bliss. . . .
What a thing it is to be young 1 ... I remember
I once went out for a row on the bay at night.
There were two of us: the boatman and I . . . .
but what was it you thought? What a night it
was, and what a sky, what stars— how they trem-
bled and crumbled in the waves! With what a
liquid flame did the water flow over and flash up
under the oars, what perfimie was wafted all
over the sea— it is not for me to describe, how-
ever " eloquent " my pen may be. A French ship
of the line lay at anchor in the roadstead. It
glowed obscurely red all over with lights; long
streaks of red light, the reflection of the illumi-
nated windows, stretched across the dark sea.
Merry music reached me in occasional bursts; I
recall, in particular, the trill of a small flute amid
the dull blaring of the horns; it seemed to flutter
like a butterfly around my boat. I ordered the
man to row to the ship; twice did we make the
circuit of it. Women's forms flitted past the wjin-
dows, borne smartly past on the whirlwind of the
waltz. ... I ordered the boatman to put off,

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far away, straight out into the darkness. . . I
remember that the somids pursued me long and
importunately. ... At last they died away. I
stood up in the boat and stretched out my arms
over the sea in the dumb pain of longing. . . .
Oh, how my heart ached thenl How oppressive
was my loneliness! With what joy would I have
given myself at that moment wholly, wholly ....
wholly, if only there had been any one to whom
to give myself 1 With what a bitter feeling in
my soul did I fling myself, face down, in the
bottom of the boat and, like Repetfloff^, request
him to take me somewhere or other!

But my friend here experienced nothing of
that sort. And why should he? He has managed
matters much more cleverly than I did. He is liv-
ing .... while I . . . . not without cause has

he called me a philosopher 'T is strange!

You, also, are called a philosopher. . . . Why
should such a calamity overtake us? ... .

I am not living. . . . But who is to blame for
that? Why do I sit here in Petersburg? What
am I doing here? Why do I kill day after day?
Why don't I go to the country? Are not oiur
steppes beautiful? Or cannot one breathe freely
in them? Or is it stifling in them? What pos-
sesses me to pursue dreams, when, perchance,
happiness is within my reach? It is settled: I am
going away, I am going away to-morrow, if pos-
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the same: for we live only twenty versts apart.
What's the use, after all, in languishing here?
And why is it that this idea did not occur to me
earlier? My dear Mdrya Alexandrovna, we shall
soon meet. But it is remarkable that this, thought
did not enter my head until this moment 1 I
ought to have gone away long, long ago. Fare-
well until we meet, Marya Alexandrovna.

July 9th.

I have deliberately given myself twenty-four
hours to think it over, and now I am definitively
convinced that there is no reason why I should
remain here. The dust in the streets is so biting
that it makes one's eyes ache. To-day I shall be-
gin to pack; on the day after to-morrow, prob-
ably, I shall leave here ; and ten days hence I shall
have the pleasure of seeing you. I hope you vsdU
receive me as of old. By the way— your sister is
still visiting your aunt, is she not?

Permit me, Marya Alexandrovna, to press
your hand warmly, and to say to you from my
soul : farewell until a speedy meeting. I was pre-
paring to leave in any case, but this letter has pre-
cipitated my intention. Let us assimfie that this
letter proves nothing ; let us even assume that Ni-
netta would not please any one else— me, for ex-
ample. Yet I am going, all the same ; there is no
doubt about that. Farewell for the present.

Yours, A. S.
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XIII

From Mdrya Alexdndrovna to AlexyH
Petrdvitch

Village of . . . no, July 16, 1840.
You are coming hither, you will soon be with
us, will you not, Alexyei Petrovitch? I will not
conceal from you that this news both delights
and agitates me. . . . How shall we meet? Will
that spiritual bond be preserved which, so it seems
to me, has already begun to unite us? Will
it not break when we meet? I do not know; I
am apprehensive, for some reason or other. I
will not answer your last letter, although I might
say a good deal; I will defer all this until we
meet. My mother is greatly delighted at your
coming. . . . She has been aware that I was cor-
responding with you. The weather is enchant-
ing. We will walk a great deal; I will show you
the new places which I have discovered .... one
long, narrow valley is particularly nice: it lies
between hillocks, covered with forest. ... It
seems to be hiding in their curves. A tiny brook
flows along it and can barely force its way
through the grass and flowers. . . . You shall
see. Come: perhaps you will not find it tedious.

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P.S. You will not see my sister, I think: she
is still visiting my amit. I believe (this is be-
tween om'selves) that she is going to marry a
very amiable yomig man— an officer. Why did
you send me that letter from Naples? The life
here perforce seems dim and pale in comparison
with that luxury and that brilliancy. But Made-
moiselle Ninetta is wrong: flowers grow and are
fragrant— even with us.

XIV

From Mdrya AlexdndroVTia to 'Aleooyet
Petrovitch

Village of . . . no, January, 1841.
I have written to you several times, Alexyei
Petrovitch. . . . You have not answered me.
Are you alive? Or perhaps our correspondence
has begun to bore you; perhaps you have found
for yourself a more agreeable diversion than the
letters of a rustic young lady can aff^ord you?
Evidently you called me to mind for the lack of
something to do. If that is the case, I wish you
happiness. If you do not answer me this time,
I shall not trouble you again; there will be no-
thing left for me to do but to regret my impru-
dence, that I have unnecessarily permitted my-
self to be roused up, have off^ered my hand and
emerged, if only for a moment, from my isolated

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nook. I ought to remain in it forever, lock
myself in— that is my portion, the portion of all
old maids. I ought to accustom myself to that
thought. There is no necessity for coming out
into God's sunlight, no necessity for craving
fresh air, when the lungs will not bear it. By
the way, we are now blocked up with dead drifts
of snow. I shall be more sensible henceforth.
. . . People do not die of boredom, but it is pos-
sible to perish with melancholy, I suppose. If I
am mistaken, prove it to me. But I think I am
not mistaken. In any case, farewell. I wish you
happiness. M. B.

From "jilexyei Petrdvitch to Mdrya
Alexdndrovna

Dbesden, September, 1842.
I write to you, my dear Marya Alexandrovna,
and I write only because I do not wish to die with-
out having taken leave of you, and without hav-
ing recalled myself to your mind. I am cop-
demned by the doctors .... and I myself feel
that my life is drawing to a close. On my table
stands a rose; before it fades I shall be no more.
But that comparison is not quite just. The rose
is far more interesting than I am.

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As you see, I am abroad. I have been in Dres-
den six months. I received yom* last letters— I
am ashamed to confess: I lost several of them
more than a year ago, and did not answer you. . .
I will tell you presently why. But, evidently,
you have always been dear to me: with the ex-
ception of yourself, there is no one of whom I
wish to take leave, and perhaps I have no one to
whom I could bid farewell.

Soon after my last letter to you (I was quite
ready to set out for your parts, and was making
various plans in advance), there happened to me
an episode which had, I may say, a strong influ-
ence on my fate,— so strong that here I am, dy-
ing, thanks to that event. To wit: I set out for
the theatre, to see the ballet. I have never liked
the ballet, and have always felt a secret disgust
for all sorts of actresses, singers, and dancers. . . .
But, obviously, one cannot change his fate, nei-
ther does any one know himself, and it is also
impossible to foresee the future. In point of
fact, nothing happens in life except the unex-
pected, and we do nothing all our life long but
adjust ourselves to events. . . . But I believe I
am dropping into philosophy again. Old habit 1
... In a word, I fell in love with a dancer.

This was all the more strange because she
could not be called a beauty. She had, it is true,
wonderful golden hair, with an ash tinge, and
large, bright eyes, with a pensive and, at the same

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time, a bold glance. . . . Haven't I cause to
know the expression of that glance? I pined and
languished for a whole year in its rays! She had
a splendid figure, and when she danced her folk-
dance, the spectators used to stamp and shout
with raptiu'e. . . . But I do not think any one
besides myself fell in love with her— at all events,
no one fell in love with her as I did. From the
very minute that I beheld her for the first time—
(will you believe it? all I have to do even now is
to shut my eyes, and immediately here stands be-
fore me the theatre, the almost empty stage, rep-
resenting the interior of a forest, and she runs
out from behind the side-scenes on the right, with
a wreath of vine-leaves on her head and a tiger-
skin over her shoulders) —from that fatal minute
I belonged to her wholly,— just as a dog belongs
to his master; and if now, when I am dying, I do
not belong to her, it is merely because she has cast
me off.

To tell the truth, she never troubled herself
especially about me. She barely noticed me, al-
though she good-naturedly made use of my
money. X was for her, as she expressed it in
her broken French jargon, ^^ oun Bousso buon
enfan/'—axid nothing more. But I .... I
could no longer live anywhere where she was not;
I tore myself at one wrench from all that was
dear to me, from my native land itself, and set out
in pursuit of that woman.

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Perhaps you think that she was clever?— Not
in the least! It sufficed to cast a glance at her
low hrow, it sufficed to note, if only once, her lazy,
heedless smile, in order instantly to convince one's
self as to the paucity of her mental abilities. And
I never imagined her to be a remarkable woman.
On the whole, I did not deceive myself for a sin-
gle minute on her score. But that did not help
matters in the least. Whatever I thought of her
in her absence, in her presence I felt nothing but
servile adoration. ... In the German fairy-
tales the knights often fall into that sort of
stupor. I could not tear my eyes from her fea-
tures; I could not hear enough of her remarks, or
sufficiently watch every movement of hers; to
tell the truth, I actually breathed to her breath-
ing. However, she was good-natured, uncon-
strained—too unconstrained even; she did not
put on airs, as the majority of artists do. She
had a great deal of life, that is, a great deal of
blood, of that splendid Southern blood, into which
the sun of their land must have dropped a portion
of his rays. She slept nine hours a day, was fond
of good eating, never read a single line of print,
unless, perhaps, the articles in the newspapers in
which she was mentioned, and almost the sole
tender sentiment in her life was her attachment
to il signore Carlino, a small and greedy Italian
who served as her secretary and whom she after-
ward married. And with such a woman as this I,

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who have tasted so many varied intellectual sub-
tleties, I, already an old man, could fall in lovel
Who could have expected it? I never expected
it, at all events. I did not anticipate the part
which I should be compelled to play. I did not
expect that I should haunt rehearsals, freeze and
get bored behind the scenes, inhale the reek of the
theatre, make acquaintance with various un-
seemly individuals .... what am I saying?—
make acquaintance— bow to them. I had not ex-
pected that I should carry a dancer's shawl, buy
new gloves for her, clean her old ones with white
bread (but I did it, I take my oath!) , cart home
her bouquets, run about to the anterooms of jour-
nalists and directors, wear myself out, give sere-
nades, catch cold, lose my strength. ... I had
not expected that I should acquire at last in a
certain little German town the ingenious nick-
name of " der Kunst'barbar.'' . • . And all this
in vain— in the fullest sense of the word, in
vain! There, that is precisely the state of the
case • • .

Do you remember how you and I, orally and
by letter, argued about love, into what subtleties
we entered? And when it is put to the proof, it
turns out that real love is a feeling not at all re-
sembling that which we imagined it to be. Love
is not even a feeling at all ; it is a malady, a well-
known condition of the soul and body. It does
not develop gradually; there is no possibility of
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doubting it; one cannot dodge it, although it does
not always manifest itself in identically the same
fashion. It generally takes possession of a man
without being invited, suddenly, against his will
—precisely like the cholera or a fever. ... It
lays hold upon him, the dear creature, as a hawk
does upon a chicken; and it will bear him oflF
whithersoever it wishes, struggle and resist as he
may. ... In love there is no equality, no so-
called free union of souls and other ideal things,
invented at their leisure by Grcrman professors.
• • . No; in love one person is the slave, the other
is the sovereign, and not without cause do the
poets prate of the chains imposed by love. Yes,
love is a chain, and the heaviest of chains at that.
At all events, I have arrived at that conviction,
and have reached it by the path of experience. I
have purchased that conviction at the price of
my life, because I am dying a slave.

Alack, what a fate is mine I one thinks. In
my youth I was resolutely determined to conquer
heaven for myself. . . . Later on, I fell to
dreaming about the welfare of all mankind, the
prosperity of my fatherland. Then that passed
off: I thought only of how I might arrange my
domestic, my family life .... and I tripped
over an ant-hill— and flop! I went headlong on
the ground, and into the grave. . . . What mas-
ter hands we Russians are at winding up in that
fashion!

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However, it is high time for me to turn away
from all this,— it was time long ago! May this
burden fall from my soul along with my life! I
wish for the last time, if only for a moment, to
enjoy that good, gentle feeling which is diffused
within me like a tranquil light as soon as I call
you to mind. Your image is now doubly dear to
me. . . . Along with it there surges up before
me the image of my native land, and I waft to it
and to you my last greeting. Live on, live long
and happily, and remember one thing: whether
you remain in that remote nook of the steppes,
where you sometimes find things so painful, but
where I should so like to spend my last day, or
whether you shall enter upon another career,
remember: life fails to disappoint him alone who
does not meditate upon it, and, demanding no-
thing from it, calmly accepts its sparse gifts, and
calmly makes use of them. Go forward, while
yoii can: but when yoiur feet fail you,— sit down
near the road, and gaze at the passers-by without
vexation and without envy: for they will not go
far! I have said this to you before, but death
will teach any man whomsoever; moreover, who
shall say what is life, what is truth? Remember
tjoho it was that gave no answer to this question.
. . . Farewell, Marya Alexandrovna; farewell for
the last time, and bear no ill will to poor—

AliEXY^.

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IN a fairly-large recently-whitewashed cham-
ber of a wing of the manor-house in the
village of Sdsovo, *** comity, T*** Grovem-
ment, a yomig man in a paletot was sitting at a
small, warped table, looking over accounts. Two
stearine candles, in silver travelling-candlesticks,
were burning in front of him; in one comer, on
the wall-bench, stood an open bottle-case, in an-
other a servant was setting up an iron bed. On
the other side of a low partition a samovar was
murmuring and hissing; a dog was nestling about
on some hay which had just been brought in. In
the doorway stood a peasant-man in a new over-
coat girt with a red belt, with a large beard, and
an intelligent face— the overseer, judging by all
the tokens. He was gazing attentively at the
seated young man.

Against one wall stood a very aged, tiny
piano; beside it an equally-ancient chest of
drawers with holes in place of the locks; between
the windows a small, dim mirror was visible;
on the partition-wall himg an old portrait, which

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was almost completely peeled off, representing
a woman with powdered hair, in a robe ronde, and
with a black ribbon about her slender neck. Judg-
ing from the very perceptible sagging of the
ceiling, and the slope of the floor, which was
full of cracks, the little wing into which we have
conducted the reader had existed for a very long
time. No one lived in it permanently; it was put
to use when the owners came. The young man
who was sitting at the table was the owner of
the village of Sasovo. He had arrived only on
the previous day from his principal estate, situ-
ated a hundred versts ^ distant, and was prepar-
ing to depart on the morrow, after completing
the inspection of the farming, listening to the
demands of the peasants, and verifying all the
documents.

"Well, that will do,"— he said, raising his
head;—" I am tired. Thou mayest go now/'—
he added, tinning to the overseer;— "and come
very early to-morrow morning, and notify the
peasants at daybreak that they are to present
themselves in assembly,— dost hear me? '*

" I obey/'

" And order the estate-clerk to present to me
the report for the last month. But thou hast
done well,"— the gentleman went on, casting a
glance around him,—" in whitewashing the walls*
Everjrthing seems cleaner."

^ A verst is two thirds of a mile.— Tbaitslaxoe.

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The overseer silently swept a glance around
the walls also.

"WeU, gonow."'

The overseer made his oheisance and left the
room.

The gentleman stretched himself.

"Hey!"— he shouted.— " Give me some tea!
.... 'T is time to go to bed."

His servant went to the other side of the par-
tition, and speedily returned with a glass of tea,
a bimdle of town cracknels, and a cream-jug on
an iron tray. The gentleman began to drink tea,
but before he had had time to swallow two mouth-
fuls, the noise of persons entering resounded
from an adjoining room, and some one's squeak-
ing voice inquired:

" Is Vladimir Sergyeitch Astakhoff at home?
Can he be seen? "

Vladimir Sergyeitch (that was the name of the
young man in the paletot) cast a glance of sur-
prise at his man, and said in a hurried whisper:

" GrO, find out who it is."

The man withdrew, slamming behind him the
door, which closed badly.

"Announce to Vladimir Sergyeitch,"— rang
out the same squeaking voice as before,—" that
his neighbour Ipdtoff wishes to see him, if it
will not incommode him; and another neighbour
has come with me, Bodryakoff, Ivan Ilitch, who
also desires to pay his respects."

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Vladimir Sergyeitch made an involmitary ges-
ture of vexation. Nevertheless, when his man
entered the room, he said to him:

" Ask them in." And he arose to receive his
visitors.

The door opened, and the visitors made their
appearance. One of them, a robust, grey-haired
little old man, with a small, round head and
bright little eyes, walked in advance; the other,
a tall, thin man of three-and-thirty, with a long,
swarthy face and dishevelled hair, walked behind,
with a shambling gait. The old man wore a neat
grey coat with large, mother-of-pearl buttons;
a small, pink neckerchief, half concealed by the
rolling collar of his white shirt, loosely encircled
his neck; his feet shone resplendent in gaiters;
the plaids of his Scotch trousers were agreeably
gay in hue; and, altogether, he produced a pleas-
ant impression. His companion, on the contrary,
evoked in the spectator a less favourable sensa-
tion: he wore an old black dress-coat, buttoned up
to the throat; his full trousers, of thick, winter
tricot, matched his coat in colour; no linen was
visible, either around his throat or around his
wrists. The little old man was the first to ap-
proach Vladimir Sergyeitch, and, with an amia-
ble inclination of the head, he began in the same
shrill little voice:

" I have the honour to introduce myself,—
your nearest neighbour, and even a relative,

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Ipatoff, Mikhailo Nikolaitch. I have long wished
to have the pleasure of making your acquain-
tance. I hope that I have not disturbed you."

Vladimir Sergyeitdi replied that he was very
glad to see him, and that he was not disturbed
in the least, and would not he take a seat • • • .
and drink tea.

" And this nobleman,"— went on the little old
man, after listening with a courteous snule to
Vladimir Sergyeitch's unfinished phrases, and
extending his hand in the direction of the gentle-
man in the dress-coat,— "also your neighbour
. . • . and my good acquaintance, Ivan Ilitch,
strongly desired to make your acquaintance."

The gentleman in the dress-coat, from whose
countenance no one would have suspected that
he was capable of desiring anything strongly
in his life— so preoccupied and, at the same time,
so sleepy was the expression of that countenance,
— the gentleman in the dress-coat bowed clum-
sily and languidly. Vladimir Sergyeitch bowed
to him in return, and again invited the visitors to
be seated.

The visitors sat down.

" I am very glad,"— began the little old man,
pleasantly throwing apart his hands, while his
companion set to scrutinising the ceiling, with
his mouth slightly open:—" I am very glad that
I have, at last, the honour of seeing you person-
ally. Although you have your permanent resi-

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dence in a county which lies at a considerable
distance from these localities, still, we regard you
also as one of our own primordial landed pro-
prietors, so to speak."

" That is very flattering to me,"— returned
Vladimir Sergyeitch.

" Flattering or not, it is a fact. You must
excuse us, Vladimir Sergyeitch; we people here
in ♦*♦ county are a straightforward folk; we live
in our simplicity; we say what we think, without
circumlocution. It is our custom, I must tell
you, not to call upon each other on Name-days *
otherwise than in our frock-coats. Truly! We
have made that the rule. On that account, we
are called ' frock-coaters ' in the adjoining coun-
ties, and we are even reproached for our bad
style; but we pay no attention to that! Pray,
what is the use of living in the country— and then
standing on ceremony? "

" Of course, what can be better .... in the
country .... than that naturalness of inter-
course,"— remarked Vladimir Sergyeitch.

" And yet,"— replied the little old man,—
" among us in our county dwell people of the
cleverest sort,— one may say people of European
culture, although they do not wear dress-suits.

^ The Name-day --that is, the day of the saint after whom a person
is named— is observed with feasting and congratulation, instead of
the birthday. For ceremonious calls, no matter at what hour of the
day, a man who has no official uniform must wear his evening suit,
on penalty of being considered ignorant or rude, or (in official circles)
of being refused admittanc.— Traxslatoe.

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Take, for example, our historian Evsiukoff,
Stepan Stepanitch: he is interesting himself in
Russian history from the most ancient times, and
is known in Petersburg— an extremely learned
man! There is in our town an ancient Swedish
cannon-ball . • . . 't is placed yonder, in the cen-
tre of the public square . . . and 't was he who
discovered it, you know! Certainly! Tz^nteler,
Anton Karlitch . • . . now he has studied nat-
ural history; but they say all Germans are suc-
cessful in that line. When, ten years ago, a stray
hyena was killed in our vicinity, it was this Ant6n
Karlitch who discovered that it really was a hy-
ena, by cause of the peculiar construction of its
tail. And then, we have a landed proprietor Ka-
burdin: he chiefly writes light articles; he wields
a very dashing pen; his articles appear in ' Gala-
tea.' Bodryakoff, .... not Ivan flitch; no,
Ivan flitch neglects that; but another Bodrya-
koff, Sergyei .... what the deuce was his fa-
ther's baptismal name, Ivdn flitch .... what
the deuce was it? "

" Sergyeitch,"— prompted Ivan flitch.

"Yes; Sergyei Sergyeitch,— he busies himself
with writing verses. Well, of course he 's not a
Pushkin, but sometimes he gets off things which
would pass muster even in the capitals. Do you
know his epigram on Agei Fomitch? "

"What AgeiFomitch?"

" Akh, pardon me; I keep forgetting that you

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are nojt a resident here, after all. He is our chief
of pcJice. The epigram is extremely amusing.
Thou rememberest it, I believe, Ivan tliteh? "

" Agei Fomitch,''— said Bodryakoff, indiffer-
ently—

**.... not without cause is gloriously
By the nobles'* election honoured **'

" I must tell you,"— broke in Ipatoff,— " that
he was elected almost exclusively by white balls,
for he is a most worthy man."

" Agei Fomitch,"— repeated Bodryakoff,

**.... not without cause is gloriously
By the nobles'* election honoured :
He drinks and eats regularly ....
So why should not he be the regulator of order? **^

The little old man burst out laughing.

" Ha, ha, ha! that is n't bad, is it? Ever since
then, if you 'U believe me, each one of us will
say, for instance, to Agei Fomitch:* Good morn-
ing! '—and will invariably add: ' so why should
not he be the regulator of order?' And does
Agei Fomitch get angry, think you? Not in the
least. No— that 's not our way. Just ask Ivan
lUtch here if it is."

Ivan Hitch merely rolled up his eyes.

" Get angry at a jest— how is that possible?

^ A pan is intendeds isprdvnot reg^ularly, in orderly manner;
iapravnikt the chief of police in a rural district.— Tbanslatob.

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Now, take Ivan Ilitch there; his nickname among
us is * The Folding Soul/ because he agrees to
everything very promptly. What then? Does
Ivan Ilitch take offence at that? Never! "

Ivan Ilitch, slowly blinking his eyes, looked
first at the little old man, then at Vladimir Ser-
gyeitch.

The epithet, "The Folding Soul," really did
fit Ivan Ilitch admirably. There was not a trace
in him of what is called will or character. Any
one who wished could lead him whithersoever he
would; all that was necessary was to say to him:
" Come on, Ivan Ilitch! "—and he picked up his
cap and went; but if another person turned up,
and said to him: " Halt, Ivan Ilitch! "—he laid
down his cap and remained. He was of a peace-
able, tranquil disposition, had lived a bachelor-
life, did not play cards, but was fond of sitting
beside the players and looking into each of their
faces in turn. Without society he could not exist,
and solitude he could not endure. At such times
he became despondent; however, this happened
very rarely with him. He had another peculiar-
ity: rising from his bed betimes in the morning,
he would sing in an undertone an old romance:

"In the country once a Baron
Dwelt in simplicity rural. ..."

In consequence of this peculiarity of Ivan
flitch's, he was also called " The Hawfinch," be-

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cause, as is well known, the hawfinefa when in cap-
tivity sings only once in the course of the day,
early in the morning. Such was Ivan Hitch Bo-
dryakoff.

The conversation between f patoff and Vladi-
mir Sergyeitch lasted for quite a long time, but
not in its original, so to speak, speculative direc-
tion. The little old man questioned Vladimir
Sergyeitch about his estate, the condition of his
forests and other sorts of land, the improvements
which he had already introduced or was only
intending to introduce in his farming; he im-
parted to him several of his own observations; ad-
vised him, among other things, in order to get rid
of hummocky pastures, to sprinkle them with
oats, which, he said, would induce the pigs to
plough them up with their snouts, and so forth.
But, at last, perceiving that Vladimir Sergyeitch
was so sleepy that he could hardly keep his eyes
open, and that a certain deliberation and inco-
herence were making themselves evident in his
speech, the little old man rose, and, with a courte-
ous obeisance, declared that he would not in-
commode him any longer with his presence, but
that he hoped to have the pleasure of seeing the
valued guest at his own house not later than the
following day, at dinner.

" And the first person you meet, not to men-
tion any small child, but, so to speak, any hen
or peasant-woman,"— he added,— "will point

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out to you the road to my village. All you have
to do is to ask for Ipatoff. The horses will trot
there of themselves."

Vladimir Sergyeitch replied with a little hesi-
tation—which, however, was natural to him—
that he would try . . . that if nothing pre-
vented ....

" Yes, we shall certainly expect you,"— the
little old man interrupted him, cordially, shook
his hand warmly, and briskly withdrew, exclaim-
ing in the doorway, as he half tiuned round:—
" Without ceremony! "

" Folding Soul " Bodryakoff bowed in silence
and vanished in the wake of his companion, with
a preliminary stimable on the threshold.

Having seen his unexpected guests off, Vladi-
mir Sergyeitch immediately undressed, got into
bed, and went to sleep.

Vladimir Sergyeitch* Astakhoff belonged to
the category of people who, after having cau-
tiously tested their powers in two or three dif-
ferent careers, are wont to say of themselves
that they have finally come to the conclusion to
look at life from a practical point of view, and
who devote their leisure to augmenting their
revenues. He was not stupid, was rather penu-
rious, and very sensible; was fond of reading, of
society, of music— but all in moderation ....
and bore himself very decorously. He was
twenty-seven years old. A great many young

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men of his sort have sprung up recently. He was
of medium height, well built, and had agreeable
though small features; their expression almost
never varied; his eyes always gleamed with one
and the same stern, bright glance; only now and
then did this glance soften with a faint shade of
something which was not precisely sadness, nor
yet precisely boredom; a courteous smile rarely
quitted his lips. He had very handsome, fair hair,
silky, and falling in long ringlets. Vladimir Ser-
gyeitch owned about six hundred souls ^ on a
good estate, and he was thinking of marriage — a
marriage of inclination, but which should, at the
same time, be advantageous. He was particu-
larly desirous of finding a wife with powerful
connections. In a word, he merited the appella-
tion of "gentleman'' which had recently come
into vogue.

When he rose on the following morning, very
early, according to his wont, our gentleman oc-
cupied himself with business, and, we must do
him the justice to say, did so in a decidedly prac-
tical manner, which cannot always be said of
practical young men among us in Russia. He
patiently listened to the confused petitions and
complaints of the peasants, gave them satisfac-
tion so far as he was able, investigated the quar-
rels and dissensions which had arisen between

^ Male serfs. The women and children did not figure on the
revision lists.— Teanslatoe.

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relatives, exhorted some, scolded others, audited
jthe clerk's accounts, brought to light two or three
[rascalities on the part of the overseer— in a word,
handled matters in such wise that he was very
well satisfied with himself, and the peasants, as
they returned from the assembly to their homes,
spoke well of him.

In spite of his promise given on the preceding
evening to Ipatoff, Vladimir Sergyeitch had
made up his mind to dine at home, and had even
ordered his travelling-cook to prepare his favour-
ite rice-soup with pluck; but all of a sudden, pos-
sibly in consequence of that feeling of satisfac-
tion which had filled his soul ever since the early
morning, he stopped short in the middle of the
room, smote himself on the brow with his hand,
and, not without some spirit, exclaimed aloud:
" I believe I 'U go to that flowery old babbler! "
No sooner said than done; half an bour later he
was sitting in his new tarantas, drawn by four
stout peasant-horses, and driving to Ipatoff's
house, which was reckoned to be not more than
twenty-five versts distant by a capital road.

MiKHAiLO NiKOLAEvrrcH Ipatoff's manor
consisted of two separate small mansions, built
opposite each other on the two sides of a huge
pond through which ran a river. A long dam,

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planted with silver poplars, shut off the pond; al-j \
most on a level with it the red roof of a small
hand-mill was visible. Built exactly alike, and j
painted with the same lilac hue, the tiny house&t
seemed to be exchanging glances across the brc^^d,
watery expanse, with the glittering panes oi v ^fieir
small, clean windows. From the middle of (^^each
little house a circular terrace projected, arF^^Jda
sharp-peaked pediment rosei aloft, supported B}/
four white pillars set close together. The an-
cient park ran all the way round the pond; lin-
dens stretched out in alleys, and stood in dense
clumps; aged pine-trees, with pale yellow boles,
dark oaks, magnificent maples here and there
reared high in air their solitary crests; the dense
verdure of the thickly-spreading lilacs and aca-
cias advanced close up to the very sides of the two
little houses, leaving revealed only their fronts,
from which winding paths paved with brick ran
down the slope. Motley-hued ducks, white and
grey geese were swimming in separate flocks on
the clear water of the pond; it never became cov-
ered with scum, thanks to abundant springs
which welled into its " head " from the base of the
steep, rocky ravine. The situation of the manor
was good, pleasant, isolated, and beautiful.
X In one of the two little houses dwelt Mikhafl
Nikolaevitch himself; in the other lived his
mother, a decrepit old woman of seventy years.
When he drove on to the dam, Vladimir Ser-

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gyeitch did not know to which house to betake
himself. He glanced about him: a small urchin
of the house-serfs was fishing, as he stood bare-
footed on a half -rotten tree-stimip. Vladimir
^ Sergyeitch hailed him.
ji " But to whom are you going— to the old lady
J. or to the young master?''— replied the urchin,
T without taking his eyes from his float.
. t " What lady? "—replied Vladimir Sergyeitch.
— " I want to find Mikhaflo Nikolaitch."

" Ah! the young master? Well, then, tiun to
the right."

And the lad gave his line a jerk, and drew
from the motionless water a small, silvery carp.
Vladimir Sergyeitch drove to the right.

Mikhail Nikolaitch was playing at draughts
with The Folding Soul when the arrival of Vla-
dimir Sergyeitch was announced to him. He was
delighted, sprang from his arm-chair, ran out
into the anteroom and there kissed the visitor
three times.

" You find me with my invariable friend, Vla-
dimir Sergyeitch,"— began the loquacious little
old man:—" with Ivan llitch, who, I will remark
in passing, is completely enchanted with your
affability." (Ivdn llitch darted a silent glance
at the corner.) " He was so kind as to remain
to play draughts with me, while all my household
went for a stroll in the park; but I will send for
them at once. . . ."

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"But why disturb them? "—Vladimir Ser-
gyeitch tried to expostulate. . . .

" Not the least inconvenience, I assure you.
Hey, there, Vanka, run for the yoimg ladies as
fast as thou canst . . . tell them that a guest has
favoured us with a visit. And how does this
locality please you? It 's not bad, is it? Ka-
burdin has composed some verses about it. * Ipa-
tovka, refuge lovely '—that 's the way they begin,
—and the rest of it is just as good, only I don't
remember all of it. The park is large, that 's the
trouble; beyond my means. And these two
houses, which are so much alike, as you have,
perhaps, deigned to observe, were erected by two
brothers— my father Nikolai, and my uncle Ser-
gyei; they also laid out the park; they were exem-
plary friends .... Damon and .... there
now! I Ve forgotten the other man's name. • . ."

" Pythion,"— remarked Ivan tlitch.

" Not really? Well, never mind." (At home
the old man talked in a much more unconven-
tional manner than when he was paying calls.) —
" You are, probably, not ignorant of the fact,
Vladimir Sergyeitch, that I am a widower, that
I have lost my wife; my elder children are in
government educational institutions,* and I have
with me only the youngest two, and my sister-in-
law lives with me— my wife's sister; you will see

* Of different grades (civil and military), for the children of the
nobility or gentry. They are not charities. — Thanslatob.

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her directly. But why don't I offer you some
refreshment? Ivan llitdi, my dear fellow, see
to a little luncheon .... what sort of vodka
are you pleased to prefer? "

" I drink nothing until dinner."

"Goodness, how is that possible 1 However,
as you please. The truest hospitality is to let
the guest do as he likes. We are very simple-
mannered folk here, you see. Here with us, if
I may venture so to express myself, we live not
so much in a lonely as in a dead-calm place, a
remote nook— that 's what! But why don't you
sit down? "

Vladimir Sergyeitch seated himself, without
letting go of his hat.

" Permit me to relieve you,"— said Ipatoff,
and delicately taking his hat from him, he car-
ried it off to a corner, then returned, looked his
visitor in the eye with a cordial smile, and, not
knowing just what agreeable thing to say to him,
inquired, in the most hearty manner,— whether he
was fond of playing draughts.

" I play all games badly,"— replied Vladimir
Sergyeitch.

" And that 's a very fine thing in you,"— re-
turned Ipatoff:— "but draughts is not a game,
but rather a diversion— a way of passing leisure
time; is n't that so, Ivan Ilitch? "

Ivan Ilitch cast an indifferent glance at Ipd-
toff, as though he were thinking to himself,

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" The devil only knows whether it is a game or
a diversion," but, after waiting a while, he said:

" Yes; draughts don't count."

" Chess is quite another matter, they say," —
pursued Ipatoff ;— " 't is a very difficult game,
I'm told. But, in my opinion .... but yonder
come my people!"— he interrupted himself,
glancing through the half -open glass door, which
gave upon the park.

Vladimir Sergyeitch rose, turned roimd, and
beheld first two little girls, about ten years of age,
in pink cotton frocks and broad-brimmed hats,
who were running alertly up the steps of the
terrace ; not far behind them a tall, plump, well-
built young girl of twenty, in a dark gown, made
her appearance. They all entered the house, and
the little girls courtesied sedately to the visitor.

" Here, sir, let me present you,"— said the host;
— " my daughters, sir. This one here is named
Katya, and this one is Nastya, and this is my
sister-in-law, Marya Pavlovna, whom I have al-
ready had the pleasure of mentioning to you. I
beg that you will love and favour them."

Vladimir Sergyeitch made his bow to Marya
Pavlovna; she replied to him with a barely per-
ceptible inclination of the head.

Marya Pavlovna held in her hand a large, open
knife; her thick, ruddy-blond hair was slightly
dishevelled,— a small green leaf had got en-
tangled in it, her braids had escaped from the

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comb,— her dark-skinned face was flushed, and
her red lips were parted; her gown looked crum-
pled. She was breathing fast; her eyes were
sparkling; it was evident that she had been work-
ing in the garden. She immediately left the
room; the little girls ran out after her.

" She 's going to rearrange her toilet a bit,"—
remarked the old man, turning to Vladimir Ser-
gyeitch;— " they can't get along without that,
sir!"

Vladimir Sergyeitch grinned at him in re-
sponse, and became somewhat pensive. Mdrya
Pavlovna had made an impression on him. It was
long since he had seen such a purely Russian
beauty of the steppes. She speedily returned,
sat down on the divan, and remained motionless.
She had smoothed her hair, but had not changed
her gown, — had not even put on cuffs. Her fea-
tures expressed not precisely pride, but rather
austerity, almost harshness; her brow was broad
and low, her nose short and straight; a slow, lazy
smile curled her lips from time to time; her
straight eyebrows contracted scornfully. She
kept her large, dark eyes almost constantly low-
ered. " I know," her repellent yoimg face seemed
to be saying; " I know that you are all looking
at me; well, then, look; you bore me." But
when she raised her eyes, there was something
wild, beautiful, and stolid about them, which was
suggestive of the eyes of a doe. She had a mag-

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nificent figure. A classical poet would have com-
pared her to Ceres or Juno.

" What have you been doing in the garden? "
— Ipatoff asked her, being desirous of bringing
her into the conversation.

" I have been cutting off dead branches, apd
digging up the flower-beds," she replied, in a
voice which was rather low, but agreeable and
resonant.

" And are you tired? "

" The children are; I am not."

" I know,"— interposed the old man, with a
smile;—" thou art a regular Bobelinal And have
you been to grandmamma's? "

" Yes; she is asleep."

"Are you fond of flowers?"— Vladimir Ser-
gyeitch asked her.

" Yes."

" Why dost thou not put on thy hat when thou
goest out of doors? "—Ipatoff remarked to her.
— " Just see how red and sunbiuned thou art."

She silently passed her hand over her face.
Her hands were not large, but rather broad, and
decidedly red. She did not wear gloves.

" And are you fond of gardening? " — Vladi-
mir Sergyeitch put another question to her.

" Yes."

Vladimir Sergyeitch began to narrate what a
fine garden there was in his neighbourhood, be-
longing to a wealthy landed proprietor named

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N***.— The head gardener, a German, received
in wages alone two thousand rubles, silver* — he
said, among other things.

" And what is the name of that gardener? ''—
inquired Ivan Ilitch, suddenly.

" I don't remember,— Meyer or Miiller, I
think. But why do you ask? "

" For no reason in particular, sir,"— replied
Ivan ilitch.—" To find out his name."

Vladimir Sergyeitch continued his narration.
The little girls, Mikhail Nikolaitch's daughters,
entered, sat down quietly, and quietly began to
listen. ...

A servant made his appearance at the door,
had announced that Egor Kapitonitch had ar^
rived.

" Ah I Ask him in, ask him in! "—exclaimed
Ipatoff.

There entered a short, fat little old man, one
of the sort of people who are called squat or
dumpy, with a pufiPy and, at the same time, a
wrinkled little face, after the fashion of a baked
apple. He wore a grey hussar jacket with black
braiding and a standing collar; his full coffee-
coloured velveteen trousers ended far above his
ankles.

" G<x)d morning, my most respected Egor
Kapitonitch,"— exclaimed Ipatoff, advancing to

1 In those days there was a great difference in the value of silver and
paper money hence the kind is usually specified. —Translator.

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meet him.—" We have n't seen each other for a
long time."

" Could n't be helped,"— returned Egor Kapi-
tonitch in a lisping and whining voice, after hav-
ing preliminarily exchanged salutations with all
present;— "surely you know, Mikhail Sergye-
itch, whether I am a free man or not? "

" And how are you not a free man, Egor Kapi-
tonitch?"

" Why, of course I 'm not, Mikhail Nikola-
itch; there 's my family, my affairs. . . . And
there 's Matryona Markovna to boot," and he
waved his hand in despair.

" But what about Matryona Markovna? "

And Ipatoff launched a slight wink at Vla-
dimir Sergyeitch, as though desirous of exciting
his interest in advance.

" Why, everybody knows/'— returned Egor
Kapitonitch, as he took a seat;—" she 's always
discontented with me, don't you know that?.
Whatever I say, it 's wrong, not delicate, not
decorous. And why it is n't decorous, the Lord
God alone knows. And the young ladies, my
daughters that is to say, do the same, taking pat-
tern by their mother. I don't say but what Ma-
tryona Markovna is a very fine woman, but she 's
awfully severe on the score of manners.'*

"But, good gracious! in what way are your
manners bad, Eg6r Kapitonitch? "

" That 's exactly what I 'd like to know myself;
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but, evidently, she 's hard to suit. Yesterday,
for instance, I said at table: 'Matry6na Mar-
kovna,' " (and Egor Kapitoniteh imparted to
his voice an insinuating inflection,—" * Matryona
Markovna,' says I, ' what 's the meaning of this,
— that Aldoshka is n't careful with the horses,
does n't know how to drive? ' says I; ' there 's the
black stallion quite foundered.'— I-iikh! how Ma-
tryona Markovna did flare up, and set to crying
shame on me: ' Thou dost not know how to ex-
press thyself decently in the society of ladies,'
says she ; and the yoimg ladies instantly galloped
away from the table, and on the next day, the
Biriulofi^ young ladies, my wife's nieces, had
heard all about it. And how had I expressed my-
self badly? And no matter what I say— and
sometimes I really am incautious,— no matter to
whom I say it, especially at home,— those Biriu-
lofi^ girls know all about it the next day. A fel-
low simply does n't know what to do. Sometimes
I 'm just sitting so, thinking after my fashion,
—I breathe hard, as perhaps you know,— and
Matryona Markovna sets to berating me again:
* Don't snore,' says she ; * nobody snores nowa-
days!'— * What art thou scolding about, Ma-
tryona Markovna? ' says I. ' Good mercy, thou
shouldst have compassion, but thou scoldest.'
So I don't meditate at home any more. I sit
and look down— so— all the time. By Heaven, I
do. And then, again, not long ago, we got into

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bed; * Matryona Markovna/ says I, * what makes
thee spoil thy page-boy, matushka?^ Why, he 's a
regular little pig,' says I, ' and he might wash his
face of a Sunday, at least/ And what happened?
It strikes me that I said it distantly, tenderly, but
I did n't hit the mark even then; Matryona Mar-
kovna began to cry shame on me again: ^Thou
dost not imderstand how to behave in the society
of ladies,' says she; and the next day the Biriii-
loflF girls knew all about it. What time have I
to think of visits imder such circumstances, Mi-
khail Nikolaitch? "

" I 'm amazed at what you tell me,"— replied
IpdtoflF;— " I did not expect that from Matryona
Markovna. Apparently, she is . . . ."

"An extremely fine woman,"— put in Egor
Kapitonitch;— " a model wife and mother, so to
speak, only strict on the score of manners. She
says that ensemble is necessary in everything, and
that I have n't got it. I don't speak French, as
you are aware, I only imderstand it. But what 's
that ensemble that I have n't got? "

IpatoflF, who was not very strong in French
himself, only shrugged his shoulders.

" And how are your children— your sons, that
is to say? "—he asked Egor Kapitonitch after a
brief pause.

Egor Kapitonitch darted an oblique glance at
him.

^ Literally, ''dear little mother/'— Translator.

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" My sons are all right, I 'm satisfied with
them. The girls have got out of hand, but I 'm
satisfied with my sons. Lyolya discharges his ser-
vice well, his superior officers approve of him;
that Lyolya of mine is a clever fellow. Well,
Mikhetz— he 's not like that; he has turned out
some sort of a philanthropist."

" Why a philanthropist? "

" The Lord knows; he speaks to nobody, he
shims folks. Matryona Markovna mostly
abashes him. * Why dost thou take pattern by
thy father? ' she says to him. * Do thou respect
him, but copy thy mother as to manners.' He 11
get straightened out, he '11 turn out all right
also."

Vladimir Sergyeitch asked Ipatoff to intro-
duce him to Egor Kapitonitch. They entered
into conversation. Marya Pavlovna did not take
part in it; Ivan llitch seated himself beside her,
and said two words, in all, to her; the little girls
came up to him, and began to narrate something
to him in a whisper. . . . The housekeeper en-
tered, a gaimt old woman, with her head boimd
up in a dark kerchief, and annoimced that dinner
was ready. All wended their way to the dining-
room.

The dinner lasted for quite a long time. Ipd-
toff kept a good cook, and ordered pretty good
wines, not from Moscow, but from the capital
of the government. Ipatoff lived at his ease, as

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the sajring goes. He did not own more than three
hundred souls, hut he was not in debt to any
one, and had brought his estate into order. At
table, the host himself did the greater part of
the talking; Egor Kapitonitch chimed in, but did
not forget himself, at the same time; he ate and
drank gloriously. Marya Pavlovna preserved
unbroken silence, only now and then replying
with half -smiles to the hurried remarks of the
two little girls, who sat one on each side of her.
They were, evidently, very fond of her. Vladimir
Sergyeitch made several attempts to enter into
conversation with her, but without particular suc-
cess. Folding Soul BodryakoflF even ate indo-
lently and languidly. After dinner all went out
on the terrace to drink coffee. The weather was
magnificent; from the garden was wafted the
sweet perfume of the lindens, which were then in
full flower; the smnmer air, slightly cooled by the
thick shade of the trees, and the humidity of the
adjacent pond, breathed forth a sort of caressing
warmth. Suddenly, from behind the poplars of
the dam, the trampling of a horse's hoofs became
audible, and a moment later, a horsewoman made
her appearance in a long riding-habit and a grey
hat, mounted on a bay horse ; she was riding at a
gallop; a page was galloping behind her, on a
small, white cob.

" Ah ! " - exclaimed Ipdtoff, - " Nadezhda
Alexyeevna is coming. What a pleasant sur-
prise!"

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"Alone? "—asked Marya Pavlovna, who up
to that moment had been standing motionless in
the doorway.

"Alone. . . • Evidently, something has de-
tained Piotr Alexyeevitch."

Marya Pavlovna darted a sidelong glance from
beneath her brows, a flush overspread her face,
and she turned away.

In the meantime, the horsewoman had ridden
through the wicket-gate into the garden, gal-
loped up to the terrace, and sprang lightly to the
ground, without waiting either for her groom
or for Ipatoff, who had started to meet her.
Briskly gathering up the train of her riding-
habit, she ran up the steps, and springing upon
the terrace, exclaimed blithely:

"Here I ami"

"Welcome!"— said Ipatoff.— "How unex-
pected, how charming this is! Allow me to kiss
your hand. . . ."

" Certainly,"— returned the visitor; " only, you
must pull off the glove yourself.— I cannot."
And, extending her hand to him, she nodded to
Marya Pavlovna.— " Just fancy, Masha, my
brother will not be here to-day,"— she said, with
a little sigh.

" I see for myself that he is not here,"— replied
Mdrya Pavlovna in an imdertone.

"He bade me say to thee that he is busy.
Thou must not be angry. Good morning, Egor
Kapitonitch; good morning, Ivan Ilitch; good

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morning, children. . • . Vasya,"— added the
guest, turning to her small groom,—" order them
to walk Little Beauty up and down well, dost
hear? Masha, please give me a pin, to fasten
up my train. . . . Come here, Mikhail Niko-
laitch."

Ipatoff went closer to her.

" Who is that new person? "—she asked, quite
loudly.

" That is a neighbour, Astakhoff, Vladimir
Sergyeevitch, you know, the owner of Sasovo.
I 11 introduce him if you like, shall I? "

" Very well .... afterward. Akh, what
splendid weather! "—she went on.—" Egor Ka-
pitonitch, tell me— can it be possible that Ma-
tryona Markovna growls even in such weather as
this? "

" Matryona Markovna never grumbles in any
sort of weather, madam; and she is merely strict ]
on the score of manners. . ."

"And what are the Biriiiloff girls doing?
They know all about it the next day, don't
they? . . . ." And she burst into a ringing, sil-
very laugh.

" You are pleased to laugh constantly,"— re-
turned Egor Kapitonitch.— " However, when
should a person laugh, if not at your age? "

" Egor Kapitonitch, don't get angry, my dear
man ! Akh, I 'm tired ; allow me to sit down. . . ."

Nadezhda Alexyeevna dropped into an arm-
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chair, and playfully pulled her hat down over her
very eyes.

Ipatoff led Vladimu- Sergyeitch up to her.

" Permit me, Nadezhda Alexyeevna, to present
to you our neighbour, Mr. Astakhoff, of whom
you have, probably, heard a great deal."

Vladimir Sergyeitch made his bow, while
Nadezhda Alexyeevna looked up at him from
under the brim of her round hat.

" Nadezhda Alexyeevna Veretyeff, our neigh-
bour,"— went on Ipatoff, turning to Vladimir
Sergyeitch.—" She lives here with her brother,
Piotr Alexyeitch, a retired lieutenant of the
Guards. She is a great friend of my sister-in-
law, and bears good will to our household in
general."

" A whole formal inventory,"— said Nadezhda
Alexyeevna, laughing, and, as before, scanning
Vladimir Sergyeitch from under her hat.

But, in the meantime, Vladimir Sergyeitch was
thinking to himself: " Why, this is a very pretty
woman also." And, in fact, Nadezhda Alex-
yeevna was a very charming young girl. Slender
and graceful, she appeared much younger than
she really was. She was already in her twenty-
eighth year. She had a round face, a small head,
fluffy fair hair, a sharp, almost audaciously up-
turned little nose, and merry, almost crafty little
eyes. Mockery fairly glittered in them, and
kindled in them in sparks. Her features, ex-

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tremely vivacious and mobile, sometimes assumed
an almost amusing expression; humour peered
forth from them. Now and then, for the most
part suddenly, a shade of pensiveness flitted
across her face,— and at such times it became
gentle and kindly; but she could not surrender
herself long to meditation. She easily seized
upon the ridiculous sides of people, and dre^v
very respectable caricatures. Everybody had
petted her ever since she was born, and that is
something which is immediately perceptible;
people who have been spoiled in childhood pre-
serve a certain stamp to the end of their lives.
Her brother loved her, although he asserted that
she stung, not like a bee, but like a wasp; be-
cause a bee stings and then dies, whereas it sig-
nifies nothing for a wasp to sting. This compari-
son enraged her.

" Have you come here for long? " — she asked
Vladimir Sergyeitch, dropping her eyes, and
twisting her riding-whip in her hands.

"No; I intend to go away from here to-
morrow."

" Whither? '^

" Home."

" Home? Why, may I venture to ask? "

" What do you mean by * why '? I have a£Pairs
at home which do not brook delay."

Nadezhda Alexyeevna looked at him.

" Are you such a . . . . punctual man? "
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" I try to be a punctual man,"— replied Vladi-
mir Sergyeitch,— " In our sedate era, every hon-
ourable man must be sedate and pimctuaL"

" That is perfectly just,"— remarked Ipatoff.
— " Is n't that true Ivan llitch? "
• Ivan flitch merely glanced at Ipatoff; but
!Eg6r Kapitonitch remarked:
^\" Yes, that 's so."

" 'T is a pity,"— said Nadezhda Alexyeevna;
— " precisely what we lack is a jeune premier.
You know how to act comedy, I suppose? "

" I have never put my powers in that line to
the test."

" I am convinced that you would act well. You
have that sort of bearing . • • • a stately mien,
which is indispensable in a jeune premier. My
brother and I are preparing to set up a theatre
here. However, we shall not act comedies
only: we shall act all sorts of things— dramas,
ballets, and even tragedies. Why would n't
Masha do for Cleopatra or Phedre? Just look
at her 1"

Vladimir Sergyeitch turned round. . • . Marya
Pavlovna was gazing thoughtfully into the dis-
tance, as she stood leaning her head against the
door, with folded arms. • • . At that moment,
her regular features really did suggest the faces
of ancient statues. She did not catch Nadezhda
Alexyeevna's last words; but, perceiving that
the glances of all present were suddenly directed

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to her, she immediately divined what was going
on, blushed, and was about to retreat into the
drawing-room. . . • Nadezhda Alexyeevna
briskly grasped her by the hand and, with the
coquettish caressing action of a kitten, drew her
toward her, and kissed that almost masculine
hand. Marya Pavlovna flushed more vividly than
before.

" Thou art always playing pranks, Nadya,"—
she said.

" Did n't I speak the truth about thee? I
am ready to appeal to all. . . . Well, enough,
enough, I won't do it again. But I will say
again,"— went on Nadezhda Alexyeevna, ad-
dressing Vladimir Sergyeitch,— " that it is a pity
you are going away. We have a jeune premier ^
it is true; he calls himself so, but he is very bad/*

" Who is he? permit me to inquire."

" Bodryakoff the poet. How can a poet be a
jeune premier? In the first place, he dresses in
the most frightful way; in the second place, he
writes epigrams, and gets shy in the presence of
every woman, even in mine. He lisps, one of his
hands is always higher than his head, and I don't
know what besides. Tell me, please, M'sieu
Astakhoff, are all poets like that? "

Vladimir Sergyeitch drew himself up slightly.

" I have never known a single one of them,
personally; but I must confess that I have never
sought acquaintance with them."

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" Yes, you certainly are a positive man. We
shall have to take Bodryakoff; there's nothing
else to be done. Other jeunes premiers are even
worse. That one, at all events, vpill learn his part
by heart. Masha, in addition to tragic roles, will
fill the post of prima donna. . . . You have n't
heard her sing, have you, M'sieu Astakhofi^?"

" No,"— replied Vladimir Sergyeitch, display-
ing his teeth in a smile ; " and I did not know . . . ."

" What is the matter with thee to-day, Na-
dya? "—said Mary a Pavlovna, with a look of dis-
pleasure.

Nadezhda Alexyeevna sprang to her feet.

" For Heaven's sake, Masha, do sing us some-
thing, please. • • • I won't let thee alone until
thou singest us something, Masha dearest. I
would sing myself, to entertain the visitors, but
thou knowest what a bad voice I have. But, on
the other hand, thou shalt see how splendidly I
will accompany thee."

Marya Pavlovna made no reply.

" There 's no getting rid of thee,"— she said at
last.—" Like a spoiled child, thou art accustomed
to have all thy caprices humoured. I will sing,
if you like."

" Bravo, bravo! "—exclaimed Nadezhda Alex-
yeevna, clapping her hands.—" Let us go into the
drawing-room, gentlemen.— And as for caprices,"
— she added, laughing,— "I '11 pay you off for
that! Is it permissible to expose my weaknesses

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in the presence of strangers? Egor Kapitonitch,
does Matryona Mdrkovna shame you thus before
people?"

" Matryona Mdrkovna,"— muttered Egor Ka-
pitonitch,— " is a very worthy lady; only, on the
score of manners • . • ."

" Well, come along, come along! ''— Nadezhda
Alexyeevna interrupted him, and entered the
drawing-room.

All followed her. She tossed off her hat and
seated herself at the piano. Marya Pavlovna
stood near the wall, a good way from Nadezhda
Alexyeevna.

" Masha,"— said the latter, after reflecting a
little,—" sing us ' The farm-hand is sowing tiie
grain.' '' '

Marya Pavlovna began to sing. Her voice
was pure and powerful, and she sang well— sim-
ply, and without affectation. All listened to her
with great attention, while Vladimir Sergyeitch
could not conceal his amazement. When Marya
Pavlovna had finished, he stepped up to her, and
began to assure her that he had not in the least
expected . . • .

^ "Wait, there 's something more coming!'* —
Nadezhda Alexyeevna interrupted him.— "M^-
sha, I will soothe thy Topknot ^ soul:— Now sing
us ' Humming, humming in the trees.' "

^ A little Russian song.— Trawslator.

^ The popular nickname among Great Russians for the Littie Rus-
sians. — Translator.

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" Are you a Little Russian? *'— Vladimir Ser-
gyeitch asked her,

" I am a native of Little Russia," she replied,
and began to sing " Humming, humming."

At first she uttered the words in an indifferent
manner; but the mournfully passionate lay of her
fatherland gradually began to stir her, her cheeks
flushed scarlet, her glance flashed, her voice rang
out f ervently. She finished,

"Good heavens 1 How well thou hast sung
thatl"— said Nadezhda Alexyeevna, bending
over the keys.— "What a pity that my brother
was not herel"

Marya Pavlovna instantly dropped her eyes,
and laughed with her customary bitter little
laugh.

" You must give us something more,"— re-
marked Ipatoff.

" Yes, if you will be so good,"— added Vla-
dimir Sergyeitch.

" Excuse me, I will not sing any more to-day,"
— said Marya Pavlovna, and left the room.

Nadezhda Alexyeevna gazed after her, first
reflected, then smiled, began to pick out
/* The farm-hand is sowing the grain " with
one finger, then suddenly began to play a bril-
liant polka, and without finishing it, struck a
loud chord, clapped to the lid of the piano, and
rose.

" 'X is a .pity that there is no one to dance
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with! "—she exclaimed.—" It would be just the
thingl"

Vladimir Sergyeiteh approached her,

" What a magnificent voice Marj'^a Pavlovna
has/'— he remarked;—" and with how much feel-
ing she sings 1"

" And are you fond of music? '*

" Yes • . . • very."

" Such a learned man, and you are fond of
music! "

" But what makes you think that I am
learned? "

" Akh, yes; excuse me, I am always forgetting
that you are a positive man. But where has
Marya Pavlovna gone? Wait, I '11 go after her."

And Nadezhda Alexyeevna fluttered out of
the drawing-room.

"A giddy-pate, as you see,"— said Ipatoff,
coming up to Vladimir Sergyeiteh; — "but the
kindest heart. And what an education she re-
ceived you cannot imagine; she can express
herself in all languages. Well, they are wealthy
people, so that is comprehensible."

" Yes,"— articulated Vladimir Sergyeiteh, ab-
stractedly,—" she is a very charming girl. But
permit me to inquire. Was your wife also a native
of Little Russia? "

" Yes, she was, sir. My late wife was a Little
Russian, as her sister Marya Pavlovna is. My
wife, to tell the truth, did not even have a per-

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fectly pure pronunciation; although she was a
perfect mistress of the Russian language, still
she did not express herself quite correctly; they
pronounce i^ ui, there, and their kha and zhe are
peculiar also, you know; well, Marya Pavlovna
left her native land in early childhood. But the
Little Russian blood is still perceptible, is n't it? "
" Marya Pavlovna sings wonderfully,"— re-
marked Vladimir Sergyeitch.

" Really, it is not bad. But why don't they
bring us some tea? And where have the young
ladies gone? 'T is time to drink tea."

The young ladies did not return very speedily.
In the meantime, the samovar was brought, the
table was laid for tea. Ipatoff sent for them.
Both came in together. Marya Pavlovna seated
herself at the table to pour the tea, while Na-
dezhda Alexyeevna walked to the door opening
on the terrace, and began to gaze out into the gar-
den. The brilliant smnmer day had been suc-
ceeded by a clear, calm evening; the sunset was
flaming; the broad pond, half flooded with its
crimson, stood a motionless mirror, grandly re-
flecting in its deep bosom all the airy depths of
the sky, and the house, and the trees turned up-
side down, and had grown black, as it were.
Everything was silent round about. There was
no noise anywhere.

"Look, how beautiful!"— said Nadezhda
Alexyeevna to Vladimir Sergyeitch, as he ap-

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preached her;—" down below there, in the pond,
a star has kindled its fire by the side of the light
in the house; the house-light is red, the other
is golden. And yonder comes grandmamma," —
she added in a loud voice.

From behind a clump of lilac-bushes a small
calash made its appearance. Two men were
drawing it. In it sat an old lady, all wrapped
up, all doubled over, with her head resting on her
breast. The ruffle of her white cap almost com-
pletely concealed her withered and contracted
little face. The tiny calash halted in front of the
terrace. IpatofF emerged from the drawing-
room, and his little daughters ran out after him.
They had been constantly slipping from room
to room all the evening, like little mice.

" I wish you good evening, dear mother,"-^
said IpatofF, stepping up close to the old woman,
and elevating his voice.—" How do you feel? "

" I have come to take a look at you,''— said the
old woman in a dull voice, and with an effort. —
" What a glorious evening it is. I have been
asleep all day, and now my feet have begun to
ache. Okh, those feet of mine! They don't serve
me, but they ache."

* " Permit me, dear mother, to present to you
our neighbour, Astakhoff, Vladimir Sergyeitch."

" I am very glad to meet you,"— returned the
old woman, scanning him with her large, black,
but dim-sighted eyes.—" I beg that you will love

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my son- He is a fine man; I gave him what
education I could; of course, I did the best a
woman could. He is still somewhat flighty, but,
God willing, he will grow steady, and 't is high
time he did; 't is time for me to surrender matters
to him. Is that you, Nadya?"— added the old
woman, glancing at Nadezhda Alexyeevna.
" Yes, grandmamma."
" And is Masha pouring tea? "
** Yes, grandmamma, she is pouring tea."
" And who else is there? "
" Ivan Hitch, and Egor Kapitonitch."
" The husband of Matryona Markovna? "
" Yes, dear mother."
The old woman mumbled with her lips.
"Well, good. But why is it, Misha, that I
can't manage to get hold of the overseer? Order
him to come to me very early to-morrow morning;
I shall have a great deal of business to arrange
with him. I see that nothing goes as it should
with you, without me. Come, that will do, I am
tired; take me away. . . . Farewell, batiushka; *
I don't remember your name and patronymic,"—
she added, addressing Vladimir Sergyeitch.
" Pardon an old woman. But don't come with
me, grandchildren, it is n't necessary. All you
care for is to run all the time. Masha spoils you.
Well, start on."

1 Literally, "dear little father": the genuinely Russian mode of
address to a man of any class, as mdtuahha (** dear little mother ") is
for women of all classes.— Translator.

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The old woman's head, which she had raised
with difficulty, fell back again on her breast- . • .

The tiny calash started, and rolled softly away.

"How old is your mother? "—inquired Vla-
dimir Sergyeitch.

" Only in her seventy-third year; but it is
twenty-six years since her legs failed her; that
happened soon after the demise of my late father.
But she used to be a beauty."

All remained silent for a while.

Suddenly, Nadezhda Alexyeevna gave a start.

" Was that— a bat flying past? Ai, what a
fright!"

And she hastily returned to the drawing-
room.

" It is time for me to go home, Mikhafl Niko-
laitch; order my horse to be saddled."

" And it is time for me to be going, too,"—
remarked Vladimir Sergyeitch.

" Where are you going? "—said Ipatoff.—
" Spend the night here. Nadezhda Alexyeevna
has only two versts to ride, while you have fully
twelve. And what 's your hurry, too, Nadezhda
Alexyeevna? Wait for the moon; it will soon be
up now. It will be lighter to ride."

" Very well,"— said Nadezhda Alexyeevna.
— " It is a long time since I had a moonlight
ride."

" And will you spend the night? "—Ipatoff
asked Vladimir Sergyeitch.

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" Really, I don't know. . . However, if I do
not incommode you • • • ."

" Not in the lesust, I assure you; I will imme-
diately order a chamber to be prepared for you."

" But it is nice to ride by moonlight,"— began
Nadezhda Alexyeevna, as soon as candles were
brought, tea was served, and IpatofF and Egor
Kapitonitch had sat down to play preference
together, while The Folding Soul seated himself
silently beside them:— " especially through the
forest, between the walnut-trees. It is both terri-
fying and agreeable, and what a strange play
of light and shade there is— it always seems as
though some one were stealing up behind you,
or in front of you. . • ."

Vladimir Sergyeitch smirked condescendingly.

"And here 's another thing,"— she went on;
— "have you ever happened to sit beside the
forest on a warm, dark, tranquil night? At such
times it always seems to me as though two per-
sons were hotly disputing in an almost inaudible
whisper, behind me, close at my very ear."

" That is the blood beating,"— said Ipatoff.

" You describe in a very poetical way,"— re-
marked Vladimir Sergyeitch. Nadezhda Alex-
yeevna glanced at him.

" Do you think so? ... In that case, my de-
scription would not please Masha."

"Why? Is not Marya Pavlovna fond ofl
poetry? "

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" No; she thinks all that sort of thing is made
up— is all false; and she does not like that."

"A strange reproach! "—exclaimed Vladimir
Sergyeitch. " Made upl How could it be other-
wise? But, after all, what are composers for? "

"Well, there, that 's exactly the point; but
I am sure you cannot be fond of poetry."

" On the contrary, I love good verses, when
they really are good and melodious, and — how
shall I say it?— when they present ideas,
thoughts. . . ."

Marya Pavlovna rose.

Nadezhda Alexyeevna turned swiftly toward
her.

" Whither art thou going, Masha? "

" To put the children to bed. It is almost nine
o'clock."

" But cannot they go to bed without thee? "

But Marya Pavlovna took the children by the
hand and went away with them.

" She is out of sorts to-day,"— remarked Na-
dezhda Alexyeevna;— "and I know why,"— she
added in an imdertone.- " But it will pass off."

" Allow me to inquire,"— began Vladimir Ser-
gyeitch,—" where you intend to spend the win-
ter?"

"Perhaps here, perhaps in Petersburg. It
seems to me that I shall be bored in Petersburg."

" In Petersburg! Good gracious 1 How is that
possible? " ^

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And Vladimir Sergyeitch began to describe all
the comforts, advantages, and charm of life in
our capital. Nadezhda Alexyeevna listened to
him with attention, never taking her eyes from
him. She seemed to be committing his features
to memory, and laughed to herself from time to
time. i

" I see that you are very eloquent,''— she said i
at last.—" I shall be obliged to spend the winter
in Petersburg."

" You will not repent of it,"— remarked Vla-
dimir Sergyeitch.

" I never repent of anything; it is not worth
the bother. If you have perpetrated a blimder,
try to forget it as speedily as possible— that 's
aU."

" Allow me to ask,"— began Vladimir Sergye-
itch, after a brief pause, and in the French lan-
guage;— "have you known Marya Pavlovna
long?"

" Allow me to ask,"— retorted Nadezhda Alex-
yeevna, with a swift laugh;—" why you have put
precisely that question to me in French? "

" Because .... for no partictdar reason. . . ."

Again Nadezhda Alexyeevna laughed.

" No; I have not known her very long. But
she is a remarkable girl, is n't she? "

"She is very original,"— said Vladimir Ser-
gyeitch, through his teeth.

" And in your mouth— in the mouth of posi-
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tive persons— does that constitute praise? I do
not think so. Perhaps I seem original to you,
also? But/'— she added, rising from her seat and
casting a glance through the window,—" the
moon must have risen; that is its light on the
poplars. It is time to depart, . • . I will go
and give order that Little Beauty shall be
saddled."

" He is already saddled, ma'am,"— said Na-
dezhda Alexyeevna's groom, stepping out from
the shadow in the garden into a band of light
which fell on the terrace.

" Ah! Well, that 's very good, indeed 1 Ma-
sha, where art thou? Come and bid me good-
bye."

Marya Pavlovna made her appearance from
the adjoining room. The men rose from the card-
table.

" So you are going already? "—inquired Ipa-
toff.

" I am; it is high time."

She approached the door leading into the gar-
den.

"What a night!"— she exclaimed.— " Come
here; hold out yoiw face to it; do you feel how it
seems to breathe upon you? And what fragrance!
all the flowers have waked up now. They have
waked up— and we are preparing to go to sleep.
• • • . Ah, by the way, Mdsha,"— she added:—
" I have told Vladimir Sergyeitch, you know,

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that thou art not fond of poetry. And now, fare-
well . . . yonder comes my horse. . . ."

And she ran briskly down the steps of the ter-
race, swung herself lightly into the saddle, said,
" Good-bye until to-morrow! "—and lashing her
horse on the neck with her riding-switch, she gal-
loped off in the direction of the dam. . . . The
groom set off at a trot after her.

All gazed after her. . • •

" Until to-morrow 1 "—her voice rang out once
more from behind the poplars.

The hoof -beats were still audible for a long
time in the silence of the summer night. At last,
Ipatoff proposed that they should go into the
house again.

" It really is very nice out of doors,"— he said;
— " but we must finish our game."

All obeyed him. Vladimir Sergyeitch began
to question Marya Pavlovna as to why she did not
like poetry.

"Verses do not please me,"— she returned,
ivith apparent reluctance.

"But perhaps you have not read many
verses?"

" I have not read them myself, but I have had
them read to me."

"And is it possible that they did not please
you? "

" No ; none of them."

" Not even Pushkin's verses? "
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" Not even Pushkin's."

"Why?"

Marya Pavlovna made no answer; but Ipatoff,
twisting round across the back of his chair, re-
marked, with a good-natured laugh, that she not
only did not like verses, but sugar also, and, in
general, could not endure anything sweet.

" But, surely, there are verses which are not
sweet,"— retorted Vladimir Sergyeitch.

" For example? "—Marya Pavlovna asked
him.

Vladimir Sergyeitch scratched behind his ear.
.... He himself knew very few verses by heart,
especially of the sort which were not sweet.

"Why, here now,"— he exclaimed at last; —
"do you know Pushkin's 'The Upas-Tree'?*
No? That poem cannot possibly be called
sweet."

" Recite it,"— said Marya Pavlovna, dropping
her eyes.

Vladimir Sergyeitch first stared at the ceiling,
frowned, mumbled something to himself, and at
last recited " The Upas-Tree."

After the first four lines, Marya Pavlovna
slowly raised her eyes, and when Vladimir Ser-
gyeitch ended, she said, with equal slowness:

^ The poem, after describing the deadly qualities of the upas-tree,
narrates how a potentate sent one of his slaves to bring him flowers
from it. The slave, thoroughly aware of bis danger, fulfilled his
sovereign's behest, returned with branches of the tree, and dropped
dead. — Translator.

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" Please recite it again."

" So these verses do please you? "—asked Vla-
dimir Sergyeiteh.

" Recite it again."

Vladimir Sergyeiteh repeated "The Upas-
Tree." Mdrya Pavlovna rose, went out into the
next room, and returned with a sheet of paper,
an inkstand and a pen.

" Please write that down for me,"— she said to
Vladimir Sergyeiteh.

" Certainly; with pleasure,"-he replied, begin-
ning to write.—" But I must confess that I am
puzzled to know why these verses have pleased
you so. I recited them simply to prove to you
that not all verses are sweet."

" So am I! "—exclaimed Ipatoff.— " What do
you think of those verses, Ivan flitch? "

Ivan Ilitch, according to his wont, merely
glanced at Ipatoff , but did not utter a word.

" Here, ma'am,— I have finished,"— said Vla-
dimir Sergyeiteh, as he placed an interrogation-
point at the end of the last line.

Marya Pavlovna thanked him, and carried the
written sheet off to her own room.

Half an hour later supper was served, and an
hour later all the guests dispersed to their rooms.
Vladimir Sergyeiteh had repeatedly addressed
Marya Pavlovna; but it was difiicult to conduct
a conversation with her, and his anecdotes did
not seem to interest her greatly. He probably

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would have fallen asleep as soon as he got into
bed had he not been hindered by his neighbour,
Egor Kapitonitch. Matry6na Mdrkovna's hus-
band, after he was fully undressed and had got
into bed, talked for a very long time with his
servant, and kept bestowing reprimands on him.
Every word he uttered was perfectly audible to
Vladimir Sergyeitch: only a thin partition sep-
arated them.

" Hold the candle in front of thy breast,'' —
said Egor Kapitonitch, in a querulous voice; —
" hold it so that I can see thy face. Thou hast
aged me, aged me, thou conscienceless man — hast
aged me completely."

"But, for mercy's sake, Egor Kapitonitch,
how have I aged you? "—the servant's dull and
sleepy voice made itself heard.

" How? I '11 tell thee how. How many times
have I said to thee: ' Mitka,' I have said to thee,
' when thou goest a-visiting with me, always take
two garments of each sort, especially ' . . . . hold
the candle in front of thy breast .... * especially
underwear.' And what hast thou done to me
to-day? "

" What, sir? "

" ' What, sir? ' What am I to put on to-mor-
row?"

" Why, the same things you wore to-day, sir."

" Thou hast aged me, malefactor, aged me. I
was almost beside myself with the heat to-day,

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as it was. Hold the candle in front of thy breast,
I tell thee, and don't sleep when thy master is
talking to thee/'

"Well, but Matryona Markovna said, sir,
* That 's enough. Why do you always take such
a mass of things with you? They only get worn
out for nothing.' '*

" Matryona Mdrkovna . • • • Is it a woman's
business, pray, to enter into that? You have
aged me. Okh, you have made me old before my
time!"

" Yes; and Yakhim said the same thing, sir.'*

" What 's that thou saidst? "

" I say, Yakhim said the same thing, sir.''

"Yakhim! Yakhim!"— repeated Eg6r Kapi-
tonitch, reproachfully.—" Ekh, you have aged
me, ye accursed, and don't even know how to
speak Russian intelligibly. Yakhim! Who 's Ya-
khim I Efrim, — well, that might be allowed to
pass, it is permissible to say that; because the
genuine Greek name is Evthunius, dost under-
stand me? . . . Hold the candle in front of thy
breast. . . . So, for the sake of brevity, thou
mayest say Efrim, if thou wilt, but not Yakhim
by any manner of means. Yakhim!"* added
Egor Kapitonitch, emphasising the syllable Ta.
— "You have aged me, ye malefactors. Hold
the candle in front of thy breast! "

And for a long time, Egor Kapitonitch con-

^ It shonld be Aklm, popular for Iak(othos» Hyacinth.— Translator.

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tinued to berate his servant, in spite of sighs,
coughs, and other tokens of impatience on the
part of Vladimir Sergyeitch. . . .

At last he dismissed his Mitka, and fell asleep;
but Vladimir Sergyeitch was no better off for
that: Egor Kapitonitch snored so mightily and
in so deep a voice, with such playful transition^
from high tones to the very lowest, with such
accompanying whistlings, and even snappings,
that it seemed as though the very partition were
shaking in response to him; poor Vladimir
Sergyeitch almost wept. It was very stifling
in the chamber which had been allotted to him,
and the feather-bed whereon he was lying
embraced his whole body in a sort of crawling
heat.

At last, in despair, Vladimir Sergyeitch rose,
opened the window, and began with avidity to
inhale the nocturnal freshness. The vdndow
looked out on the park. It was light overhead,
the round face of the full moon was now clearly
reflected in the pond, and stretched itself out in
a long, golden sheaf of slowly transfused span-
gles. On one of the paths Vladimir Sergyeitch
espied a figure in woman's garb; he looked
more intently; it was Marya Pavlovna; in the
moonlight her face seemed pale. She stood
motionless, and suddenly began to speak. . . .
Vladimir Sergyeitch cautiously put out his
head* • • •

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" But a man — with glance imperious —
Sent a man to the Upas-tree . . . /'

reached his ear. ...

" Come,"— he thought,— " the verses must
have taken effect. . . ."

And he began to listen with redoubled atten-
tion. . . . But Marya Pavlovna speedily fell si-
lent, and turned her face more directly toward
him; he could distinguish her large, dark eyes,
her severe brows and lips. . . .

Suddenly, she started, wheeled round, entered
the shadow cast by a dense wall of lofty acacias,
and disappeared. Vladimir Sergyeitch stood for
a considerable time at the window, then got into
bed again, but did not fall asleep very soon.

" A strange being,"— he thought, as he tossed
from side to side;—" and yet they say that there
is nothing particular in the provinces. . . . The
idea! A strange being! I shall ask her to-mor-
row what she was doing in the park."

And Egor Kapitonitch continued to snore as
before.

Ill

On the following morning Vladimir Sergyeitch
awoke quite late, and immediately after the gen-
eral tea and breakfast in the dining-room, drove
off home to finish his business on his estate, in
spite of all old Ipatoff 's attempts to detain him.

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Marya Pdvlovna also was present at the tea; but
Vladimir Sergyeitch did not consider it neces-
sary to question her concerning her late stroll of
the night before; he was one of the people who
find it difficult to surrender themselves for two
days in succession to any unusual thoughts and
assumptions whatsoever. He would have been
obliged to discuss verses, and the so-called " poet-
ical " mood wearied him very quickly. He spent
the whole day until dinner in the fields, ate with
great appetite, dozed oflT, and when he woke up,
tried to take up the clerk's accounts; but be-
fore he had finished the first page, he ordered his
tarantas to be harnessed, and set off for Ipatoff 's.
Evidently, even positive people do not bear about
in their breasts hearts of stone, and they are no
more fond of being bored than other plain mor-
tals.

As he drove upon the dam he heard voices and
the sound of music. They were singing Rus-
sian ballads in chorus in Ipatoff's house. He
found the whole company which he had left in
the morning on the terrace; all, Nadezhda Ale-
xyeevna among the rest, were sitting in a circle
around a man of two-and-thirty— a swarthy-
skinned, black-eyed, black-haired man in a vel-
vet jacket, with a scarlet kerchief carelessly
knotted about his neck, and a guitar in his hands.
This was Piotr Alexyeevitch Veretyeff, brother
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Vladimir Sergyeitch, old Ipatoff advanced to
meet him with a joyful cry, led him up to Vere-
tyeff, and introduced them to each other. After
exchanging the customary greetings with his new
acquaintance, Astakhoff made a respectful bow
to the latter's sister.

"We 're singing songs in country fashion,
Vladimir Sergyeitch,"— began Ipatoff, and
pointing to Veretyeff he added:— " Piotr Ale-
xyeitch is our leader,— and what a leader! Just
you listen to him! "

" This is very pleasant,''— replied Vladimir
Sergyeitch.

" Will not you join the choir? "— Nadezhda
Alexyeevna asked him.

" I should be heartily glad to do so, but I have
no voice."

" That does n't matter! See, Egor Kapito-
nitch is singing, and I 'm singing. All you have
to do is to chime in. Pray, sit down ; and do thou
strike up, my dear fellow! "

" What song shall we sing now? "—said Vere-
tyeff, thrumming the guitar; and suddenly stop-
ping short, he looked at Marya Pavlovna, who
was sitting by his side.—" I think it is your turn
now,"— he said to her.

" No; do you sing,"— replied Marya Pavlovna.

"Here 's a song now: * Adown dear Mother
Volga ' "—said Vladimir Sergyeitch, with im-
portance.

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" No, we will save that up for the last," — re-
plied Veretyeff , and tinkling the strings of the
guitar, he struck up, in slow measure, " The sun
is setting."

He sang splendidly, dashingly, and blithely.
His manly face, already expressive, became still
more animated when he sang; now and then he
shrugged his shoulders, suddenly pressed the
strings with his palm, raised his arm, shook his
curls, and darted a falcon-like look around him.
More than once in Moscow he had seen the fa-
mous Ilya, and he imitated him. The chorus
chimed in lustily. Marya Pavlovna's voice sep-
arated itself in a melodious flood from the other
voices; it seemed to drag them after it; but she
would not sing alone, and Veretyefi^ remained the
leader to the end.

They sang a great many other songs. . . .

In the meantime, along with the evening
shadows, a thunder-storm drew on. From noon-
day it had been steaming hot, and thunder had
kept rumbling in the distance; but now a broad
thunder-cloud, which had long lain like a leaden
pall on the very rim of the horizon, began to in-
crease and show itself above the crests of the
trees, the stifling air began to quiver more dis-
tinctly, shaken more and more violently by the
approaching storm; the wind rose, rustled the fo-
liage abruptly, died into silence, again made a
prolonged clamour, and began to roar; a sm'ly

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gloom flitted over the earth, swiftly dispelling
the last reflection of the sunset glow; dense clouds
suddenly floated up, as though rending them-
selves free, and sailed across the sky; a fine rain
began to patter down, the lightning flashed in
a red flame, and the thunder rumbled heavily and
angrily.

" Let us go,"— said old Ipatoff,— " or we shall
be drenched."

All rose.

"Directly!"— exclaimed Piotr Alexyeitch.—
" One more song, the last. Listen:

''Akh, thou house, thou house of mine,
Thou new house of mine . . . ."

he struck up in a loud voice, briskly striking the
strings of the guitar with his whole hand. " My
new house of maple-wood," joined in the chorus,
as though reluctantly carried away. Almost at
the same moment, the rain hegan to heat down in
streams; but Veretyefi^ sang " My house " to the
end. From time to time, drowned by the claps of
thunder, the dashing ballad seemed more dash-
ing than ever beneath the noisy rattle and giu*-
gling of the rain. At last the final detonation
of the chorus rang out— and the whole company
ran, laughing, into the drawing-room. Loudest
of all laughed the little girls, Ipatoff^'s daughters,
as they shook the rain-drops from their frocks.
But, by way of precaution, Ipatoff closed the

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window, and locked the door; and Egor Kapi-
tonitch lauded him, remarking that Matryona
M^rkovna also always gave orders to shut up
whenever there was a thunder-storm, because elec-
tricity is more capable of acting in an empty
space. Bodryakoff looked him straight in the
face, stepped aside, and overturned a chair.
Such trifling mishaps were constantly happening
to him.

The thunder-storm passed over very soon. The
doors and windows were opened again, and the
rooms were filled with moist fragrance. Tea was
brought. After tea the old men sat down to
cards again. Ivan Ilitch joined them, as usual.
Vladimir Sergyeitch was about to go to Marya
Pavlovna, who was sitting at the window with
Veretyeff; but Nadezhda Alexyeevna called
him to her, and immediately entered into a
fervent discussion with him about Petersburg
and Petersburg life. She attacked it; Vladimir
Sergyeitch began to defend it. Nadezhda Ale-
xyeevna appeared to be trying to keep him by
her side.

"What are you wrangling about?"— in-
quired Veretyeff, rising and approaching them.

He swayed lazily from side to side as he
walked; in all his movements there was percep-
tible something which was not exactly careless-
ness, nor yet exactly fatigue.

" Still about Petersburg,"— replied Nadezhda
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Alexyeevna.— " Vladunir Sergyeitch cannot suf-
ficiently praise it/'

" 'T is a fine town,"— remarked Veretyeff^;—
" but, in my opinion, it is nice everyivhere. By
Heaven, it is. If one only has two or three
women, and — pardon my frankness — wine, a
man really has nothing left to wish for/'

" You surprise me,"— retorted Vladimir Ser-
gyeitch. " Can it be possible that you are really
of one opinion, that there does not exist for the
cultured man . . . ."

"Perhaps .... in fact .... I agree with
you,"— interrupted Veretyeff^, who, notwith-
standing all his courtesy, had a habit of not lis-
tening to the end of retorts;— " but that 's not
in my line; I 'm not a philosopher."

" Neither am I a philosopher,"— replied Vla-
dimir Sergyeitch;—" and I have not the slightest
desire to be one; but here it is a question of some-
thing entirely different."

Veretyeff cast an abstracted glance at his sis-
ter, and she, with a faint laugh, bent toward him,
and whispered in a low voice:

"Petnisha, my dear, imitate Egor Kapito-
nitch for us, please."

Veretyeff 's face instantly changed, and. Hea-
ven knows by what miracle, became remarkably
like the face of Egor Kapitonitch, although
the features of the two faces had absolutely no-
thing in common, and Veretyeff himself barely

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wrinkled up his nose and pulled down the comers
of his lips.

" Of course,"— he began to whisper, in a voice
which was the exact counterpart of Egor Kapi-
tonitch's,— " Matryona Markovna is a severe
lady on the score of manners; but, on the other
hand, she is a model wife. It is true that no
matter what I may have said . . . .''

"The Biriuloff gu-ls know it all,''— put in
Nadezhda AJexyeevna, hardly restraining her
laughter.

" Eveiything is known on the following day,"
—replied Veretyeff, with such a comical grim-
ace, with such a perturbed sidelong glance, that
even Vladimir Sergyeitch burst out laughing.

" I see that you possess great talent for mimi-
cry,"— he remarked.

Veretyeff passed his hand over his face, his
features resumed their ordinary expression, while
Nadezhda AJexyeevna exclaimed:

"Oh, yes! he can mimic any one whom he
wishes. . . . He 's a master hand at that."

"And would you be able to imitate me, for
example?"— inquired Vladimir Sergyeitch.

"I should think so! "—returned Nadezhda
AJexyeevna:—" of course."

"Akh, pray do me the favour to represent
me,"— said Astakhoff, turning to Veretyeff.—
" I beg that you will not stand on ceremony."

" And so you too have believed her?" — replied
Veretyeff, slightly screwing up one eye, and im-

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pa;i'ting to his voice the sound of Astakhoff 's
voice, but so cautiously and slightly that only
Nadezhda Alexyeevna noticed it, and bit her lips.
— " Please do not believe her; she will tell you
other untrue things about me/'

"And if you only knew what an actor lie is!"
— pursued Nadezhda Alexyeevna:— "he plays
every conceivable sort of a part. And so splen-
didly I He is our stage-manager, and our promp-
ter, and everything you like. It 's a pity that
you are going away so soon."

" Sister, thy partiality blinds thee,"— re-
marked Veretyeff , in a pompous tone, but still
with the same touch of Astakhoff.—" What will
Mr. Astakhoff think of thee?— He will regard
thee as a rustic."

" No, indeed,"— Vladimir Sergyeitch was be-
ginning

" See here, Petnisha,"— interposed Nadezhda
Alexyeevna;— "please show us how a drunken
man is utterly unable to get his handkerchief out
of his pocket; or no: show us, rather, how a boy
catches a fly on the window, and how it buzzes
under his fingers."

"Thou art a regular child,"— replied Vere-
tyeff.

Nevertheless he rose, and stepping to the
window, beside which Marya Pavlovna was
sitting, he began to pass his hand across the
panes, and represent how a small boy catches
a fly.

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The accuracy with which he imitated its pitiftil
squeak was really amazing. It seemed as though
a live fly were actually struggling under his fin-
gers. Nadezhda Alexyeevna hurst out laugh-
ing, and gradually every one in the room got to
laughing. Marya Pavlovna's face alone under-
went no change, not even her lips quivered. She
sat with downcast eyes, hut raised them at last,
and casting a serious glance at Veretyeff, she
muttered through her set teeth:

" What possesses you to make a clown of your-
self?"

Veretyeff instantly turned away from the win-
dow, and, after standing still for a moment in the
middle of the room, he went out on the terrace,
and thence into the garden, which had already
grown perfectly dark.

"How amusing that Piotr Alexyeitch is!"—
exclaimed Egor Kapitonitch, slapping down the
seven of trumps with a flourish on some one else's
ace.—" Really, he 's very amusing! "

Nadezhda Alexyeevna rose, and hastily ap-
proaching Marya Pavlovna, asked her in an un-
dertone:

" What didst thou say to my brother? '*
' " Nothing,"— replied the other.

"What dost thou mean by * nothing'? Im-
possible."

And after waiting a little, Nadezhda Alexye-
evna said: " Come! "—took Mirya Pavlovna by

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the hand, forced her to rise, and went off with
her into the garden.

Vladimir Sergyeitch gazed after the two
young girls not without perplexity. iBut they
were not absent long; a quarter of an hour later
they returned, and Piotr Alexyeitch entered the
room with them.

"What a splendid night!" exclaimed Na-
dezhda AJexyeevna, as she entered. — " How
beautiful it is in the garden 1 "

" Akh, yes. By the way,"— said Vladimir Ser-
gyeitch;— " allow me to inquire, Marya Pav-
lovna, whether it was you whom I saw in the
garden last night? "

Marya Pavlovna gave him a swift look straight
in the eyes.

" Moreover, so far as I could make out, you
were declaiming Pushkin's ' The Upas-Tree.' "

Veretyeff frowned slightly, and he also began
to stare at Astakhoff .

" It really was I,"— said Marya Pavlovna;—
" only, I was not declaiming anything; I never
declaim."

"Perhaps it seemed so to me,"— began Vla-
dimir Sergyeitch;— "but . . ."

" It did seem so to you? "—remarked Marya
Pavlovna, coldly.

" What 's ' The Upas-Tree '? "-inquired Na-
dezhda Alexyeevna.

"Why, don't you know? "—retorted Asta-
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khoff.— " Do you mean to say you don't remem-
ber Pushkin's verses: * On the unhealthy, meagre
soir?"

" Somehow I don't remember. • . . That upas-
tree is a poisonous tree, is n't it? "

"Yes."

" Like the datura. . . . Dost remember, Masha,
how beautiful the datura were on our balcony, in
the moonlight, with their long, white blossoms?
Dost remember what fragrance poured from
them,— so sweet, insinuating, and insidious? **

"An insidious fragrance 1"— exclaimed Vla-
dimir Sergyeitch.

" Yes; insidious. What are you surprised at?
They say it is dangerous, but it is attractive.
Why can evil attract? Evil should not be beau-
tiful."

" Oh, what theories 1 " — remarked Piotr
Alexyeitch;— " how far away we have got from
verses 1"'

" I recited those verses yesterday evening to
Marya Pavlovna," interposed Vladimir Sergye-
itch;—" and they pleased her greatly."

"Akh, please recite them,"— said Nadezhda
Alexyeevna.

" Certainly, madam."

And Astakhoff recited " The Upas-Tree."

" Too bombastic,"— ejaculated Veretyeff, as
though against his will, as soon as Vladimir Ser-
gyeitch had finished.

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" The poem is too bombastic? "

" No, not the poem. . . . Excuse me, it seems
to me that you do not recite with sufficient simpli-
city. The thing speaks for itself; however, I
may be mistaken/'

" No, thou art not mistaken,'*— said Nadezhda
Alexyeevna, pausing between her words,

" Oh, yes; that is a matter of course 1 In thy
eyes I am a genius, an extremely gifted man,
who knows everything, can do everything; un-
fortunately, he is overcome with laziness; is n't
that so?"

Nadezhda Alexyeevna merely shook her head.

" I shall not quarrel with you; you must know
best about that,"— remarked Vladimir Sergy6-
itch, somewhat sulkily.—" That 's not in my
line."

" I made a mistake, pardon me,"— ejaculated
Veretyeff , hastily.

In the meantime, the game of cards had come
to an end.

" Akh, by the way,"— said Ipdtoff, as he rose;
— " Vladimir Sergyeitch, one of the local landed
proprietors, a neighbour, a very fine and worthy
man, Akilin, Gavrfla Stepanitch, has commis-
sioned me to ask you whether you will not do
him the honour to be present at his ball,— that is,
I just put it so, for beauty of style, and said
' ball,' but it is only an evening party with danc-
ing, quite informal. He would have called upon

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you himself without fail, only he was afraid of
disturbing you,"

" I am much obliged to the gentleman," — re-
turned Vladimir Sergyeitch;— " but it is impera-
tively necessary that I should return home. . . ."

" Why— but when do you suppose the ball
takes place? 'T is to-morrow. To-morrow is
Gavrila Stepanitch's Name-day. One day more
won't matter, and how much pleasure you will
give himl And it 's only ten versts from here.
If you will allow, we will take you thither."

"Really, I don't know,"— began Vladimir
Sergyeitch.— " And are you going? "

" The whole family! And Nadezhda Alexye-
evna and Piotr Alexyeitch,— everybody is
going 1"

" You may invite me on the spot for the fifth
quadrille, if you like,"— remarked Nadezhda
Alexyeevna.— " The first four are already be-
spoken."

" You are very kind; and are you already en-
gaged for the mazurka? "

" I? Let me think .... no, I think I am
not."

" In that case, if you will be so kind, I should
like to have the honour . . . ."

" That means that you will go? Very good.
Certainly."

"Bravol"-exclamied Ipatoff.-" Well, Vla-
dimir Sergyeitch, you have put us under an ob-

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ligation. Gavrflo Stepanitch will simply go into
raptures. Is n't that so, Ivan tlitch? "

Ivan llitch would have preferred to hold his
peace, according to his wont, but thought it bet-
ter to utter a sound of approval.

" What possessed thee,"— said Pi6tr Alexye-
itch an hour later to his sister, as he sat with her
in a light two-wheeled cart, which he was driv-
ing himself,— " what possessed thee to saddle
thyself with that sour-visaged fellow for the
mazurka? "

" I have reasons of my own for that,"— replied
Nadezhda Alexy6evna.

" What reasons?— permit me to inquire." j

" That 's my secret."

"Ohol"

And with his whip he lightly flicked the
horse, which was beginning to prick up its
ears, snort, and shy. It was frightened by
the shadow of a huge willow bush which fell
across the road, dimly illuminated by the
moon.

"And shalt thou dance with Masha? "—Na-
dezhda Alexyeevna, in her turn, questioned her
brother.

" Yes," he said indifferently.

"Yes! yes!"— repeated Nadezhda Alexye-
evna, reproachfully.— " You men,"— she added,
after a brief pause,—" positively do not deserve
to be loved by nice women."

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" Dost think so? Well, and that sour-visaged
Petersburger— does he deserve it? "
" Sooner than thou."
"ReaUy!"
And Piotr Alexyeiteh recited, with a sigh:

** What a mission, O Creator,
To be the brother of a grown-up sister! '*

Nadezhda Alexyeevna burst out laughing.

" I cause thee a great deal of trouble, there 's
no denying that. I have a commission to thee."

" Really?— I had n't the slightest suspicion of
that."

" I 'm speaking of Masha."

"On what score?"

Nadezhda Alexyeevna's face assumed a slight
expression of pain.

" Thou knowest thyself,"— she said softly.

" Ah, I understand 1— What 's to be done, Na-
dezhda Alexyeevna, ma'am? I love to drink with
a good friend, ma'am, sinful man that I am;
I love it, ma'am."

" Stop, brother, please don't talk like that! • . .
This is no jesting matter."

" Tram-tram-tam-poom! " — muttered Piotr
Alexyeiteh through his teeth.

" It is thy perdition, and thou jestest. • * ."

"The farm-hand is sowing the grain, his wife
does not agree ....'*'

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struck up Piotr Alexyeitch loudly, slapped the
horse with the reins, and it dashed onward at a
brisk trot.

On reaching home Veretyeff did not undress, and
a couple of hours later, when the flush of dawn
was just colouring the sky, he was no longer in
the house.

Half-way between his estate and Ipatofi^'s, on
the very brink of a broad ravine, stood a small
birch grove. The young trees grew very close
together, and no axe had yet touched their grace-
ful trunks; a shadow which was not dense, but
continuous, spread from the tiny leaves on the
soft, thin grass, all mottled with the golden heads
of buttercups,^ the white dots of wood-campa-
nula, and the tiny deep-crimson crosses of wild
pinks. The recently-risen sun flooded the whole
grove with a powerful though not brilliant light;
dewdrops glittered everywhere, while here and
there large drops kindled and glowed red; every-
thing exhaled freshness, life, and that innocent
triumph of the first moments of the morning,
when everything is still so bright and still so
silent. The only thing audible was the carolling
voices of the larks above the distant fields, and
in the grove itself two or three small birds were

^The unpoetical Russian name is *' chicken-blindness'' (night-
blindness). —Translator.

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executing, in a leisurely manner, their brief songs,
and then, apparently, listening to see how their
performance had turned out. From the damp
earth arose a strong, healthy scent; a pure, light
breeze fluttered all about in cool gusts. Morn-
ing, glorious morning, breathed forth from
everything— everything looked and smiled of the
morning, like the rosy, freshly-washed face of a
baby who has just waked up.

Not far from the ravine, in the middle of a
small glade, on an outspread .cloak, sat Veretyeff.
Marya Pavlovna was standing beside him, lean-
ing against a birch-tree, with her hands clasped
behind her.

Both were silent. Marya Pavlovna was gaz-
ing fixedly into the far distance; a white scarf
had slipped from her head to her shoulders, the
errant breeze was stirring and lifting the ends
of her hastily-knotted hair. Veretyeff sat bent
over, tapping the grass with a small branch.

" Well,"— he began at last,—" are you angry
with me?"

Mdrya Pavlovna made no reply.

Veretyeff darted a glance at her.

" Mdsha, are you angry? "—he repeated.

Marya Pavlovna scanned him with a swift
glance from head to foot, turned slightly away,
and said:

" Yes."

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"What for?"— asked Veretyeff, an{i flung
away his branch.

Again Mdrya Pavlovna made no reply.

" But, as a matter of fact, you have a right to
be angry with me,"— began Veretyeff, after a
brief pause. — " You must regard me as a man
who is not only frivolous, but even . • . ."

"You do not understand me,"— interrupted
Marya Pavlovna.—" I am not in the least angry
with you on my own account."

" On whose account, then? "

" On your own."

Veretyeff raised his head and laughed.

"Ahl I understand! "—he said.— "Again 1
again the thought is beginning to agitate you:
' Why don't I make something of myself? ' Do
you know what, Masha, you are a wonderful be-
ing; by Heaven, you are! You worry so much
about other people and so little about yourself.
There is not a bit of egoism in you; really, really
there is n't. There 's no other girl in the world
like you. It 's a pity about one thing : I decidedly
am not worthy of your affection; I say that with-
out jesting.''

" So much the worse for you. You feel and do
nothing."— Again Veretyeff laughed.

"Mdsha, take your hand from behind your
back, and give it to me,"— he said, with insinu-
ating affection in his voice.

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Maryri Pavlovna merely shrugged her shoul-
ders.

" Give me your beautiful, honest hand; I want
to kiss^ it respectfully and tenderly. Thus does
a giddy-pated scholar kiss the hand of his con-
descending tutor."

And Veretyeff reached out toward Marya
Pavlovna.

" Enough of thatl "—said she. " You are al-
ways laughing and jesting, and you will jest
away your life like that."

" H'ml jest away my lifel A new expression!
But I hope, Marya Pavlovna, that you used the
verb ' to jest * in the active sense? "

Marya Pavlovna contracted her brows.

" Enough of that, Veretyeff,"— she repeated.

" To jest away life,"— went on Veretyeff, half
rising;— "but you are imagining me as worse
than I am ; you are wasting your life in serious-
ness. Do you know, Masha, you remind me of a
scene from Pushkin's ' Don Juan.' You have
not read Pushkin's * Don Juan'?"

" No."

" Yes, I had forgotten, you see, that you do
not read verses.— In that poem guests come to a
certain Laura; she drives them all away and
remains alone with Carlos. The two go out on
the balcony; the night is wonderful. Laura ad-
mires, and Carlos suddenly begins to demon-
strate to her that she will grow old in course of

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time.—' Well/ replies Laura, ' it may be cold
and rainy in Paris now, but here, with us, " thei
night is redolent of orange and of laurel." Why
make guesses at the future? ' Look around you,
Masha; is it not beautiful here? See how every-
thing is enjoying life, how young everything is.
And are n't we young ourselves? "

Veretyeff approached Marya Pavlovna; she
did not move away from him, but she did not turn
her head toward him.

"Smile, Masha,"— he went on;— "only with
your kind smile, not with your usual grin. I
love your kind smile. Raise your proud, stern
eyes.— What ails you? You turn away. Stretch
out your hand to me, at least."

" Akh, Veretyeff,"— began Masha;—" you
know that I do not understand how to express
myself. You have told me about that Laura.
But she was a woman, you see. ... A woman
may be pardoned for not thinking of the future."

" When you speak, Masha,"— returned Vere-
tyeff,— "you blush incessantly with self-love
and modesty: the blood fairly flows in a crimson
flood into your cheeks. I 'm awfully fond of that
in you."

Marya Pavlo^^la looked Veretyeff straight in
the eye.

" Farewell,"— she said, and threw her scarf
over her head.

Veretyeff held her back. " Enough, enough.
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Stayl "—he cried—" Come, why are you going?
Issue your commands ! Do you want me to enter
the service, to become an agriculturist? Do you
want me to publish romances with accompani-
ment for the guitar; to print a collection of
poems, or of drawings; to busy myself with
painting, sculptiu'e, dancing on the rope? I '11
do anjrthing, anything, anything you command,
if only you will be satisfied with mel Come,
really now, Mdsha, believe me."

Again Marya Pavlovna looked at him.

"You will do all that in words only, not in
deeds. You declare that you will obey me . . . •"

" Of course I do."

" You obey, but how many times have I begged
you . . . ."

" What about? "

Marya Pavlovna hesitated.

" Not to drink liquor,"— she said at last.

Veretyeff laughed.

"Ekh, Masha! And you are at it, too! My
sister is worrying herself to death over that also.
But, in the first place, I 'm not a drunkard at
all; and in the second place, do you know wjiy
I drink? Look yonder, at that swallow. . . .
Do you see how boldly it manages its tiny body,
— and hurls it wherever it wishes? Now it has
soared aloft, now it has darted downward. It has
even piped with joy: do you hear? So that 's
why I drink, Masha, in order to feel those same

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sensations which that swallow experiences. • . ^
Hurl yourself whithersoever you will, soar where-
soever you take a fancy . . . ."

" But to what end? "—interrupted Masha.

" What do you mean by that? What is one to
live on then? "

"But is n't it possible to get along without
liquor? "

" No, it is not; we are all damaged, rumpled.
There 's passion .... it produces the same
effect. That 's why I love you."

" Like wine. . . . I 'm much obliged to you."

"No, Masha, I do not love you like wine.
Stay, I 'U prove it to you sometime,— when we are
married, say, and go abroad together. Do you
know, I am planning in advance how I shall lead
you in front of the Venus of Milo. At this
point it will be appropriate to say:

** And when she stands with serious eyes
Before the Chyprian of M ilos —
, Twain are they, and the marble in comparison
Suffers, it would seem, affront

" What makes me talk constantly in poetry to-
day? It must be that this morning is affecting
me. What air 1 'T is exactly as though one were
quaffing wine."

** Wine again,"— remarked Marya Pdvlovna.

" What of thatl A morning like this, and you
with me, and not feel intoxicated I * With serious

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eyes . . . / Yes,"— pursued Veretyeff, gazing
intently at Marya Pavlovna,— " that is so. . . .
For I remember, I have beheld, rarely, but yet I
I have beheld these dark, magnificent eyes, I have
beheld them tender 1 And how beautiful they
are thenl Come, don't turn away, Masha;
pray, smile at least .... show me your eyes
merry, at all events, if they will not vouchsafe
me a tender glance."

" Stop, Veretyeff,"— said Marya Pavlovna.
— *' Release me! It is time for me to go home."

" But I 'm going to make you laugh,"— inter-
posed Veretyeff; " by Heaven, I will make you
laugh. Eh, by the way, yonder nms a hare. . . ."

"Where?"— asked Marya Pavlovna.

" Yonder, beyond the ravine, across the field of
oats. Some one must have startled it; they don't
run in the morning. I 11 stop it on the instant,
if you like."

And Veretyeff whistled loudly. The hare im-
mediately squatted, twitched its ears, drew up its
fore paws, straightened itself up, munched,
sniffed the air, and again began to munch with
its lips. Veretyeff promptly squatted down on
his heels, like the hare, and began to twitch his
nose, sniff, and munch like it. The hare passed
its paws twice across its muzzle and shook it-
self,— they must have been wet with dew,— stif-
fened its ears, and bounded onward. Veretyeff
rubbed his hands over his cheeks and shook him-

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self also. • . • Marya Pavlovna could not hold
out, and burst into a laugh.

" Bravo 1"— cried Veretyeff, springing up.
" Bravo! That 's exactly the point— you are not
a coquette. Do you know, if any fashionable
young lady had such teeth as you have she would
laugh incessantly. But that 's precisely why I
love you, Masha, because you are not a fashion-
able young lady, don't laugh without cause, and
don't wear gloves on your hands, which it is a joy
to kiss, because they are sunburned, and one feels
their strength. . • • I love you, because you don't
argue, because you are proud, taciturn, don't read
books, don't love poetry . . . •"

"I '11 recite some verses to you, shall I?"—
Marya Pdvlovna interrupted him, with a certain
peculiar expression on her face.

"Verses?"— inquired Veretyeff, in amaze-
ment.

" Yes, verses; the very ones which that Peters-
burg gentleman recited last night."

" ' The Upas-Tree ' again? .... So you really
were declaiming in the garden, by night? That 's
just like you. . . . But does it really please you
so much? "

" Yes, it does."

"Recite it."

Mdrya Pavlovna was seized with shyness. . . .

"Recite it, recite it,"— repeated Veretyeff.

Marya Pavlovna began to recite; Veretyeff
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stood in front of her, with his arms folded on his
breast, and bent himself to listen. At the first
line Mdrya Pavlovna raised her eyes heaven-
ward; she did not wish to encounter VeretyefF's
gaze. She recited in her even, soft voice, which
reminded one of the sound of a violoncello; but
when she reached the Unes:

"And the poor slave expired at the feet
Of his invincible sovereign . • . .''

her voice began to quiver, her impassive, haughty
brows rose ingenuously, like those of a Uttle girl,
and her eyes, with involuntary devotion, fixed
themselves on Veretyeff . . . .

He suddenly threw himself at her feet and
embraced her knees.

" I am thy slave I "—he cried.—" I am at thy
feet, thou art my sovereign, my goddess, my ox-
eyed Hera, my Medea . . . ."

Marya Pavlovna attempted to repulse him,
but her hands sank helplessly in his thick curls,
and, with a smile of confusion, she dropped her
head on her breast. • • •

Gavbila Stepanitch AkIlin, at whose house
the ball was appointed, belonged to the category
of landed proprietors who evoked the admiration

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of the neighbours by their ingenuity in living well
on very insignificant means. Although he did
not own more than four hundred serfs, he was
in the habit of entertaining the whole government
in a huge stone mansion, with a tower and a flag
on the tower, erected by himself. The property
had descended to him* from his father, and
had never been distinguished for being well
ordered; Gavrfla Stepanitch had been an ab-
sentee for a long time— had been in the ser-
vice in Petersburg. At last, twenty-five years
before the date of our story, he returned to
his native place, with the rank of Collegiate
Assessor,^ and, with a wife and three daughters,
had simultaneously undertaken reorganisation
and building operations, had gradually set up
an orchestra, and had begun to give dinners. At
first everybody had prophesied for him speedy
and inevitable ruin; more than once rumours had
become current to the effect that Gavrfla Stepa-
nitch's estate was to be sold under the hammer;
but the years passed, dinners, balls, banquets,
concerts, f oUowed each other in their customary
order, new bufldings sprang out of the earth like
mushrooms, and stiU Gavrfla Stepanitch's estate
was not sold under the hanmaer, and he himself
continued to live as before, and had even grown
stout of late.

^ The dghth (cmt of fourteen) in Peter the Great's Table
of Ranks. —Translator.

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Then the neighbours' gossip took another di-
rection; they began to hint at certain vast sums
which were said to be concealed; they talked of
a treasure. ..." And if he were only a good
farmer, . . . ." so argued the nobles among
themselves; " but that 's just what he is n't, you
know ! Not at all ! So it is deserving of surprise,
and incomprehensible." However that may have
been, every one went very gladly to Gavrfla Ste-
panitch's house. He received his guests cordially,
and played cards for any stake they liked. He
was a grey-haired little man, with a small, pointed
head, a yellow face, and yellow eyes, always care-
fully shaven and perfumed with eau-de-cologne ;
both on ordinary days and on holidays he wore
a roomy blue dress-coat, buttoned to the chin, a
large stock, in which he had a habit of hiding
his chin, and he was foppishly fastidious about
his linen; he screwed up his eyes and thrust out
his lips when he took snuff, and spoke very po-
litely and softly, incessantly employing the let-
ter «.*

In appearance, Gavrfla Stepanitch was not dis-
tinguished by vivacity, and, in general, his ex-
terior was not prepossessing, and he did not
look like a clever man, although, at times, craft
gleamed in his eye. He had settled his two el-
der daughters advantageously; the yoimgest was

^ ** S'," a polite addition to sentences, equivalent to a contraction
of the words for ** sir " or " madam. "—Trakslator.

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still at home, and of marriageable age. Gavrfla
Stepaniteh also had a wife, an insignificant and
wordless being.

At seven o'clock in the evening, Vladimir Ser-
gyeitch presented himself at the Ipatoffs' in
dress-suit and white gloves. He found them all
entirely dressed; the little girls were sitting se-
dately, afraid of mussing their starched white
frocks; old Ipatoff, on catching sight of Vladi-
mir Sergyeitch in his dress-suit, affectionately
upbraided him, and pointed to his own frock-
coat; Marya Pavlovna wore a muslin gown of a
deep rose colour, which was extremely becoming
to her. Vladimir Sergyeitch paid her several
compliments. Marya Pavlovna's beauty at-
tracted him, although she was evidently shy of
him; he also liked Nadezhda Alexyeevna, but her
free-and-easy manners somewhat disconcerted
him. Moreover, in her remarks, her looks, her
very smiles, mockery frequently peeped forth,
and this disturbed his citified and well-bred soul.
He would not have been averse to making f im of
others with her, but it was unpleasant to him to
think that she was probably capable of jeering at
himself.

The ball had already begun; a good many
guests had assembled, and the home-bred orches-
tra was crashing and booming and screeching in
the gallery, when the Ipatoff family, accompa-
nied by Vladimir Sergyeitch, entered the hall of

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the Akilin house. The host met them at the very
door, thanked Vladimir Sergyeitch for his tender
procuration of an agreeable surprise,— that was
the way he expressed himself,— and, taking Ipa-
toff 's arm, he led him to the drawing-room, to
the card-tables. Gavrfla Stepdnitch had re-
ceived a bad education, and everything in his
house, both the music and the furniture and the
food and the wines, not only could not be called
first-class, but were not even fit to be ranked as
second-class. On the other hand, there was
plenty of everything, and he himself did not put
on airs, was not arrogant .... the nobles de-
manded nothing more from him, and were en-
tirely satisfied with his entertainment. At sup-
per, for instance, the caviare was served cut up in
chunks and heavily salted; but no one objected
to your taking it in your fingers, and there was
plenty wherewith to wash it down: wines which
were cheap, it is true, but were made from grapes,
nevertheless, and not some other concoction. The
springs in Gavrfla Stepanitch's furniture were
rather uncomfortable, owing to their stiffness
and inflexibility ; but, not to mention the fact that
there were no springs whatever in many of the
couches and easy-chairs, any one could place un-
der him a worsted cushion, and there was a great
number of such cushions lying about, embroi-
dered by the hands of Gavrfla Stepanitch's
spouse herself —and then there was nothing left
to desire.

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In a word, Gavrfla Stepdnitch's house could
not possibly have been better adapted to the so-
ciable and unceremonious style of ideas of the
inhabitants of *** county, and it was solely ow-
ing to Mr. Akilin's modesty that at the assem-
blies of the nobility he was not elected Marshal,
but a retired Major Podpekin, a greatly re-
spected and worthy man, despite the fact that he
brushed his hair over to the right temple from the
left ear, dyed his moustache a lilac hue, and as
he suffered from asthma, had of late fallen into
melancholy.

So, then, the ball had already begun. They
were dancing a quadrille of ten pairs. The cava-
liers were the oflScers of a regiment stationed close
by, and divers not very youthful squires, and two
or three officials from the town. Everything
was as it should be, everything was proceeding
in due order. The Marshal of the Nobility
was playing cards with a. retired Actual Coun-
cillor of State,* and a wealthy gentleman, the
owner of three thousand souls. The actual state
councillor wore on his forefinger a ring with a
diamond, talked very softly, kept the heels of his
boots closely united, and did not move them from
the position used by dancers of former days, and
did not turn his head, which was half concealed
by a capital velvet collar. The wealthy gentle-
man, on the contrary, was constantly laughing at
something or other, elevating his eyebrows, and

1 The fourth finom the top in the Table of Ranks.— Teakslatok.

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flashing the whites of his eyes. The poet Bo-
dryakoff, a man of shy and clumsy aspect, was
chatting in a comer with the learned historian
Evsiukoff: each had clutched the other by the
button. Beside them, one noble, with a remark-
ably long waist, was expounding certain auda-
cious opinions to another noble who was timidly
staring at his forehead. Along the wall sat
the manmias in gay-hued caps; around the
doors pressed the men of simple cut, young
fellows with perturbed faces, and elderly fellows
with peaceable ones; but one cannot describe
everything. We repeat: everything was as it
should be.

Nadezhda Alexyeevna had arrived even ear-
lier than the Ipatoffs; Vladimir Sergyeitch saw
her dancing with a young man of handsome ap-
pearance in a dandified dress-suit, with expres-
sive eyes, thin black moustache, and gleaming
teeth; a gold chain hung in a semicircle on his
stomach. Nadezhda Alexyeevna wore a light-
blue gown with white flowers; a small garland of
the same flowers encircled her curly head; she was
smiling, fluttering her fan, and gaily gazing
about her; she felt that she was the queen of
the ball. Vladimir Sergyeitch approached her,
made his obeisance, and looking her pleasantly in
the face, he asked her whether she remembered
her promise of the day before.

"What promise? '^

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'' Why, that you would dance the mazurka with

me.

" Yes, of course I will dance it with you."

The young man who stood alongside Na-
dezhda Alexyeevna suddenly flushed crimson.

"You have probably forgotten, mademoiselle,"
— he began,—" that you had already previously
promised to-day's mazurka to me."

Nadezhda Alexyeevna became confused.

" Akh! good heavens, what am I to do? " — she
said:— " excuse me, pray, M'sieu Steltchinsky,
I am so absent-minded; I really am ashamed. . . ."

M'sieu Steltchinsky made no reply, and merely
dropped his eyes; Vladimir Sergyeitch assumed
a slight air of dignity.

" Be so good, M'sieu Steltchinsky,"— went on
Nadezhda Alexyeevna; "you and I are old ac-
quaintances, but M'sieu Astakhoff is a stranger
among us ; do not place me in an awkward posi-
tion: permit me to dance with him.'*

" As you please,"— returned the young man. —
" But you must begin."

" Thanks,"— said Nadezhda Alexyeevna, and
fluttered off^ to meet her vis-a-vis.

Steltchinsky followed her with his eyes, then
looked at Vladimir Sergyeitch. Vladimir Ser-
gyeitch, in his turn, looked at him, then stepped
aside.

The quadrille soon came to an end. Vladimir
Sergyeitch strolled about the hall a little, then

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he betook himself to the drawing-room and
paused at one of the card-tables. Suddenly he
felt some one touch his hand from behind; he
turned round— before him stood Steltchinsky.

" I must have a couple of words with you in
the next room, if you will permit,"— said the lat-
ter, in French, very courteously, and with an
accent which was not Russian.

Vladimir Sergyeitch followed him.

Steltchinsky halted at a window.

" In the presence of ladies,"— he began, in the
same language as before,—" I could not say any-
thing else than what I did say; but I hope you
do not think that I really intend to surrender to
you my right to the mazurka with M-Ue Vere-
tyeff."

Vladimir Sergyeitch was astounded.

" Why so? "-he asked.

" Because, sir,"— replied Steltchinsky, quietly,
laying his hand on his breast and inflating his
nostrils,—" I don't intend to,— that 's all."

Vladimir Sergyeitch also laid his hand on his
breast, but did not inflate his nostrils.

" Permit me to remark to you, my dear sir,"—
he began,—" that by this course you may drag
M-Ue Veretyeff^ into unpleasantness, and I as-
sume . . . ."

" That would be extremely impleasant to me,
but no one can prevent your declining, declar-
ing that you are ill, or going away. . . ."

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" I shall not do it. For whom do you take
me?"

" In that case, I shall be compelled to demand
satisfaction from you."

" In what sense do you mean . • . . satisfac-
tion? "

" The sense is evident."

" You will challenge me to a duel? "

" Precisely so, sir, if you do not renounce the
mazurka."

Steltchinsky endeavoured to utter these words
as negligently as possible. Vladimir Sergyeitch's
heart set to beating violently. He looked his
wholly unexpected antagonist in the face.
" Phew, O Lord, what stupidity! " he thought.

"You are not jesting?"— he articulated
aloud.

" I am not in the habit of jesting in general,"
—replied Steltchinsky, pompously;— " and par-
ticularly with people whom I do not know. You
will not renounce the mazurka? "—he added,
after a brief pause.

" I will not,"— retorted Vladimir Sergyeitch,
as though deliberating.

" Very good! We will fight to-morrow."

"VeryweU."

" To-morrow morning my second will call
upon you."

And with a courteous inclination, Steltchinsky
withdrew, evidently well pleased with himself.

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Vladimir Sergyeitch remained a few minutes
longer by the window.

"Just look at that, now!''— he thought.—
" This is the result of thy new acquaintances!
What possessed me to come? Good! Splendid! "

But at last he recovered himself, and went out
into the hall.

In the hall they were already dancing the
polka. Before Vladimir Sergyeitch's eyes Marya
Pavlovna flitted past with Piotr Alexyeitch,
whom he had not noticed up to that moment;
she seemed pale, and even sad; then Nadezhda
Alexyeevna darted past, all beaming and joyous,
with some youthful, bow-legged, but fiery artil-
lery ofiicer; on the second round, she was danc-
ing with Steltchinsky. Steltchinsky shook his
hair violently when he danced.

" Well, my dear fellow,"— suddenly rang out
Ipatoff's voice behind Vladimir Sergyeitch's
back;—" you 're only looking on, but not danc-
ing yourself? Come, confess that, in spite of the
fact that we live in a dead-calm region, so to
speak, we are n't badly off, are we, hey? "

" Good! damn the dead-calm region! " thought
Vladimir Sergyeitch, and mumbling something
in reply to Ipatoff, he went off to another cor-
ner of the hall.

" I must hunt up a second,"— he pursued his
meditations;—" but where the devil am I to find
one? I can't take Veretyeff ; I know no others;

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the devil only knows what a stupid affair this
is!"

Vladimir Sergyeitch, when he got angry, was
fond of mentioning the devil.

At this moment, Vladimir Sergyeitch's eyes
fell upon The Folding Soul, Ivan flitch, stand-
ing idly by the window.

" Would n't he do? "—he thought, and shrug-
ging his shoulders, he added almost aloud:—" I
shall have to take him."

Vladimir Sergyeitch stepped up to him.

" A very strange thing has just happened to
me,"— began our hero with a forced smile:—
"just imagine some young man or other, a
stranger to me, has challenged me to a duel; it is
utterly impossible for me to refuse; I am in
indispensable need of a second: will not you
act? "

Although Ivan Ilitch was characterised, as we
know, by imperturbable indifference, yet such
an unexpected proposition startled even him.
Thoroughly perplexed, he riveted his eyes on
Vladimir Sergyeitch.

" Yes,"— repeated Vladimir Sergyeitch;— " I
should be greatly indebted to you. I am not ac-
quainted with any one here. You alone . . . ."

"I can't,"— said Ivan Ilitch, as though just
waking up;—" I absolutely can't."

"Why not? You are afraid of unpleasant-
ness; but aU this will, I hope, remain a secret. . • ."

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As he spoke these words, Vladimir Sergyeitch
felt himself blushing and growing confused.

" Excuse me, I can't possibly,"— repeated
Ivan llitch, shaking his head and drawing back,
in which operation he again overturned a chair.

For the jfirst time in his life it was his lot to
reply to a request by a refusal; but then, the re-
quest was such a queer one !

"At any rate,"— pursued Vladimir Sergye-
itch, in an agitated voice, as he grasped his hand,
— " do me the favour not to speak to any one con-
cerning what I have said to you. I earnestly
entreat this of you."

" I can do that, I can do that,"— hastily re-
plied Ivdn llitch;— "but the other thing I can-
not do, say what you wiU; I positively am
unable to do it."

" Well, very good, very good,"— said Vladi-
mir Sergyeitch; — " but do not forget that I rely
on your discretion. ... I shall announce to-
morrow to that gentleman," he muttered to him-
self with vexation,—" that I could not find a
second, so let him make what arrangements he
sees fit, for I am a stranger here. And the devil
prompted me to apply to that gentleman I But
what else was there for me to do? "'

Vladimir Sergyeitch was very, very imlike his
usual' self.

In the meantime, the ball went on. Vladi-
mir Sergyeitch would have greatly liked to de-

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part at once, but departure was not to be thought
of until the end of the mazurka. How was he
to give up to his delighted antagonist? Unhap-
pily for Vladimir Sergyeitch, the dances were
in charge of a free-and-easy young gentleman
with long hair and a sunken chest, over which,
in semblance of a miniature waterfall, meandered
a black satin neckcloth, transfixed with a huge
gold pin. This young gentleman had the repu-
tation, throughout the entire government, of be-
ing a man who had assimilated, in their most
delicate details, all the customs and rules of the
highest society, although he had lived in Peters-
burg only six months altogether, and had not suc-
ceeded in penetrating any loftier heights than the
houses of Collegiate Assessor Sandaraki and his
brother-in-law. State Councillor Kostandaraki.
He superintended the dances at all balls, gave the
signal to the musicians by clapping his hands,
and in the midst of the roar of the trumpets and
the squeaking of the violins shouted: " En avant
deuxt '' or " Grande chainel ^^ or" A vovSj made-
moiselle! '^ and was incessantly flying, all pale
and perspiring, through the hall, slipping head-
long, and bowing and scraping. He never began
the mazurka before midnight. " And that is a
concession,"— he was wont to say;— "in Peters-
burg I would keep you in torment imtil two
o'clock."

This ball seemed very long to Vladimir Ser-

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gyeitch. He prowled about like a shadow from
hall to drawing-room, now and again exchanging
cold glances with his antagonist, who never
missed a single dance, and undertook to invite
Marya Pavlovna for a quadrille, but she was
already engaged— and a couple of times he ban-
died words with the anxious host, who appeared
to be harassed by the tedium which was written
on the countenance of the new guest. At last,
the music of the longed-for mazurka thimdered
out. Vladimir Sergyeitch hunted up his lady,
brought two chairs, and seated himself with her,
near the end of the circle, almost opposite Stel-
tchinsky.

The young man who managed affairs was in
the first pair, as might have been expected. With
what a face he began the mazurka, how he
dragged his lady after him, how he beat the floor
with his foot, and twitched his head the while,—
all this is almost beyond the power of human pen
to describe.

" But it seems to me, M'sieu Astakhoff, that
you are bored,"— began Nadezhda Alexyeevna,
suddenly turning to Vladimir Sergyeitch.

"I? Not in the least. What makes you think
so?"

" Why, because I do from the expression of
your face. . . . You have never smiled a single
time since you arrived. I had not expected that
of you. It is not becoming to you positive gen-

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tlemen to be misanthropical and to frown it. la
Byron. Leave that to the authors."

" I notice, Nadezhda Alexyeevna, that you
frequently call me a positive man, as though
mockingly. It must be that you regard me as
the cJoldest and most sensible of beings, incapable
of anything which .... But do you know, I will
tell you something; a positive man is often very
sad at heart, but he does not consider it neces-
sary to display to others what is going on there
inside of him; he prefers to hold his peace."

" What do you mean by that? "—inquired Na-
dezhda Alexyeevna, surveying him with a glance.

" Nothing, ma'am,"— replied Vladimir Ser-
gyeitch, with feigned indifference, assuming an
air of mystery.

" Really? "

" Really, nothing. . . . You shall know some
day, later on."

Nadezhda Alexyeevna wanted to pursue her
questions, but at that moment a young girl, the
host's daughter, led up to her Steltchinsky and
another cavalier in blue spectacles.

" Life or death? "—she asked in French.

" Life," — exclaimed Nadezhda Alexyeevna ;
" I don't want death just yet."

Steltchinsky bowed; she went off with him.*

1 The figures in the mazurka are like those in the cotillon (which is
often danced the same evening), but the step is very animated and
original. — Traksiator.

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The cavalier in the blue glasses, who was called
Death, started off with the host's daughter. Stel-
tchinsky had invented the two designations.

" Tell me, please, who is that Mr. Steltchin-
sky? "—inquired Vladimir Sergyeitch of Na-
dezhda Alexyeevna, as soon as the latter returned
to her place.

" He is attached to the Governor's service, and
is a very agreeable man. He does not belong in
these parts. He is somewhat of a coxcomb, but
that runs in the blood of all of them. I hope you
have not had any explanations with him on ac-
count of the mazurka? "

" None whatever, I assure you,"— replied Vla-
dimir Sergyeitch, with a little hesitation.

" I 'm such a forgetful creature I You can't
imagine!"

" I am bound to be delighted with your f or-
getfulness: it has afforded me the pleasure of
dancing with you to-night." *

Nadezhda Alexyeevna gazed at him, with her
eyes slightly narrowed.

" Really? You find it agreeable to dance with
me?"

Vladimir Sergyeitch answered her with a com-
pliment. Little by little he got to talking freely.
Nadezhda Alexyeevna was always charming, and
particularly so that evening; Vladimir Sergye-
itch thought her enchanting. The thought of the
duel on the morrow, while it fretted his nerves,

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imparted brilliancy and vivacity to his remarks;
under its influence he permitted himself slight ex-
aggerations in the expression of his feelings. . . .
" I don't care! " he thought. Something myste-
rious, involuntarily sad, something elegantly-
hopeless peeped forth in all his words, in his
suppressed sighs, in his glances which suddenly
darkened. At last, he got to chattering to
such a degree that he began to discuss love,
women, his future, the manner in which he con-
ceived of happiness, what he demanded of
Fate. . . • He explained himself allegorically,
by hints. On the eve of his possible death,
Vladimir Sergyeitch flirted with Nadezhda
Alexyeevna.

She listened to him attentively, laughed, shook
her head, now disputed with him, again pre-
tended to be incredulous. . . . The conversa-
tion, frequently interrupted by the approach of
ladies and cavaliers, took a rather strange turn
toward the end. . . . Vladimir Sergyeitch had
already begun to interrogate Nadezhda Alexye-
evna about herself, her character, her sympathies.
At first she parried the questions with a jest,
then, suddenly, and quite unexpectedly to Vla-
dimir Sergyeitch, she asked him when he was
going away.

" Whither? "—he said, in surprise.

" To your own home."

"To Sdsovo?"

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" No, home, to your village, a hundred versts
from here."

Vladimir Sergyeitch east down his eyes.

" I should like to go as promptly as possible,"
—he said with a preoccupied look on his face.—
" To-morrow, I think . . • . if I am alive. For
I have business on hand. But why have you
suddenly taken it into your head to ask me about
that?"

" Because I have! "—retorted Nadezhda Ale-
xyeevna.

" But what is the reason? "

"Because I have!"— she repeated.— " I am
surprised at the curiosity of a man who is going
away to-morrow, and to-day wants to find out
about my character. ..."

" But, pardon me . . . ." began Vladimir Ser-
gyeitch. . . .

" Ah, here, by the way .... read this," — Na-
dezhda Alexyeevna interrupted him with a laugh,
as she handed him a motto-slip of paper from
bonbons which she had just taken from a small
table that stood near by, as she rose to meet Ma-
rya Pavlovna, who had stopped in front of her
with another lady.

Marya Pavlovna was dancing with Piotr
Alexyeitch. Her face was covered with a flush,
and was flaming, but not cheerful.

Vladimir Sergyeitch glanced at the slip of
paper; thereon, in wretched French letters, was
printed:

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^^ Qui me nSglige me perd/'

He raised his eyes, and encountered Steltchin-
sky's gaze bent upon him. Vladimir Sergyeitch
smiled constrainedly, threw his elbow over the
back of the chair, and crossed his legs— as much
as to say: " I don't care for thee! "

The fiery artillery ofiioer brought Nadezhda
Alexyeevna up to her chair with a dash, pirou-
etted gently in front of her, bowed, clicked his
spurs, and departed. She sat down.

" Allow me to inquire,"— began Vladimir Ser-
gyeitch, with pauses between his words,— "in
what sense I am to understand this billet? . . . ."

" But what in the world does it say? "—said
Nadezhda Alexyeevna. — " Ah, yes I ^ Qui me
neglige me perdf Well! that 's an admirable
rule of life, which may be of service at every step.
In order to make a success of anything, no mat-
ter what, one must not neglect anything whatso-
ever. . . . One must endeavour to obtain every-
thing; perhaps one will obtain something. But
I am ridiculous. I .... I am talking to you,
a practical man, about rules of life. . . ."

Nadezhda Alexyeevna burst into a laugh, and
Vladimir Sergyeitch strove, in vain, to the very
end of the mazurka, to renew their previous con-
versation. Nadezhda Alexyeevna avoided it with
the perversity of a capricious child. Vladimir
Sergyeitch talked to her about his sentiments,
and she either did not reply to him at all, or else
she called his attention to the gowns of the ladies,

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to the ridiculous faces of some of the men, to the
skill with which her brother danced, to the beauty
of Marya Pavlovna; she began to talk about
music, about the day before, about Egor Kapi-
tonitch and his wife, Matryona Markovna ....
and only at the very close of the mazurka, when
Vladimir Sergyeitch was beginning to make her
his farewell bow, did she say, with an ironical
smile on her lips and in her eyes:

" So you are positively going to-morrow? "
"Yes; and very far away, perhaps," -^ said
Vladimir Sergyeitch, significantly.
" I wish you a happy journey."
And Nadezhda Alexyeevna swiftly ap-
proached her brother, merrily whispered some-
thing in his ear, then asked aloud:

" Grateful to me? Yes? art thou not? other-
wise he would have asked her for the mazurka."
He shrugged his shoulders, and said:
" Nevertheless, nothing will come of it. . . ."
She led him off into the drawing-room.
"The flirt!"— thought Vladimir Sergyeitch,
and taking his hat in his hand, he slipped un-
noticed from the hall, hunted up his footman,
to whom he had previously given orders to hold
himself in readiness, and was already donning
his overcoat, when suddenly, to his intense siu*-
prise, the lackey informed him that it was im-
possible to depart, as the coachman, in some
unknown manner, had drunk to intoxication,

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and that it was utterly impossible to arouse him.
After cursing the coachman in a remarkably
brief but extremely powerful manner (this took
place in the anteroom, outside witnesses were
present), and informing his footman that if the
|[X)achman was not in proper condition by day-
light to-morrow, then no one in the world would
be capable of picturing to himself what the result
would be, Vladimir Sergyeitch returned to the
hall, and requested the major-domo to allot him
a chamber, without waiting for supper, which
was already prepared in the drawing-room. The
master of the house suddenly popped up, as it
were, out of the floor, at Vladimir Sergyeitch's
very elbow (Gavrfla Stepdnitch wore boots with-
out heels, and therefore moved about without the
slightest sound), and began to hold him back,
assuring him that there would be caviar of the
very best quality for supper; but Vladimir Ser-
gyeitch excused himself on the plea of a head-
ache. Half an hour later he was lying in a
small bed, under a short coverlet, and trying to
get to sleep.

But he could not get to sleep. Toss as he
would from side to side, strive as he would to
think of something else, the figure of Steltchin-
sky importunately towered up before him. • . .
Now he is taking aim . . . now he has fired.
. . • • "AstakhofF is killed," says some one.
Vladunir Sergyeitch could not be called a brave

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man, yet he was no coward; but even the
thought of a duel, no matter with whom, had
never once entered his head. . • . Fight 1 with
his good sense, peaceable disposition, respect
for the conventions, dreams of future prosperity,
and an advantageous marriage! If it had not
been a question of his own person, he would
have laughed heartily, so stupid and ridiculous
did this affair seem to him. Fight! with whom,
and about what? !

"Phew! danm it! what nonsense! "—he
exclaimed involuntarily aloud.— " Well, and
what if he really does kill me? "—he con-
tinued his meditations;—" I must take measures,
make arrangements. . . . Who will mourn for
me?"

And in vexation he closed his eyes, which were
staringly-wide open, drew the coverlet up
around his neck .... but could not get to sleep,
nevertheless. . . .

Dawn was already breaking, and exhausted
with the fever of insonmia, Vladimir Sergy6itch
was beginning to fall into a doze, when suddenly
he felt some weight or other on his feet. He
opened his eyes. . . . On his bed sat Veretyeff.

Vladimir Sergyeitch was greatly amazed, es-
pecially when he noticed that Veretyeff had no
coat on, that beneath his unbuttoned shirt his
bare breast was visible, that his hair was tum-
bling over his forehead, and that his very face

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appeared changed. Vladimir Sergyeitch got
half-way out of bed, • • .

" Allow me to ask • • • •" he began, throwing
his hands apart. • • • ^

" I have come to you,"— said Veretyeff, in a
hoarse voice;—" excuse me for coming in such a
guise. . . • We have been drinking a bit yonder.
I wanted to put you at ease. I said to myself:
* Yonder hes a gentleman who, in all probabiUty,
cannot get to sleep.— Let 's help him.'— Under-
stand; you are not going to fight to-morrow, and
can go to sleep "

Vladimir Sergyeitch was still more amazed
than before.

" What was that you said? ''—he muttered.

" Yes; that has all been adjusted,"— went on
Veretyeff;- "that gentleman from the banks
of the Visla .... Steltchinsky .... makes
his apologies to you .... to-morrow you will ^
receive a letter. ... I repeat to you:— all is set-
tled. • • . Snore away."

So saying, Veretyeff rose, and directed his
course, with unsteady steps, toward the door.

"But permit me, permit me,"— began Vla-
dimir Sergyeitch.—" How could you have found
out, and how can I believe . . . ."

" Akh! you think that I . . . . you know . . . ."
(and he reeled forward slightly) . ..." I tell
you ... he will send a letter to you to-morrow.
.... You do not arouse any particular sym-

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pathy in me, but magnanimity is my weak side.
But what 's the use of talking. ... It 's all
nonsense anyway. . . . But confess,"— he added,
with a wink;— "you were pretty well scared,
were n't you, hey? "

Vladimir Sergyeitch flew into a rage.

" Permit me, in conclusion, my dear sir," — said
he. . . .

" Well, good, good,"— Veretyeff interrupted
him with a good-natured smile.—" Don't fly into
a passion. Evidently you are not aware that no
ball ever takes place without that sort of thing.
That 's the established rule. It never amounts
to anything. Who feels like exposing his brow?
Well, and why not bluster, hey? at newcomers,
for instance? In vino Veritas. However, neither
you nor I know Latin. But I see by your face
that you are sleepy. I wish you good night, Mr.
Positive Man, well-intentioned mortal. Accept
this wish from another mortal who is n't worth
a brass farthing himself. Addio, mio caro! ''

And Veretyefi^ left the room.

"The devil knows what this means!"— ex-
claimed Vladimir Sergyeitch, after a brief pause,
banging his fist into the pillow;— "no one ever
heard the like! . . . this must be cleared up! I
won't tolerate this! "

Nevertheless, five minutes later he was already
sleeping softly and profoundly. . . . Danger

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escaped fills the soul of man with sweetness, and
softens it.

This is what had taken place before that un-
anticipated nocturnal interview between Vere-
tyeff and Vladimir Sergyeitch.

In Gavrfla Stepanitch's house lived his grand-
nephew, who occupied bachelor quarters in the
lower story. When there were balls on hand,
the young men dropped in at his rooms between
the dances, to smoke a hasty pipe, and after
supper they assembled there for a friendly
drinking-bput. A good many of the guests had
dropped in on him that night. Steltchinsky and
VeretyefF were among the number; Ivan tlitch.
The Folding Soul, also wandered in there in the
wake of the others. They brewed a punch. Al-
though Ivan llitch had promised Astakhofi^ that
he would not mention the impending duel to any
one whomsoever, yet, when Veretyefi^ acciden-
tally asked him what he had been talking about
with that glum fellow (VeretyefF never alluded
to Ast^khoff otherwise) , The Folding Soul could
not contain himself, and repeated his entire con-
versation with Vladimir Sergyeitch, word for
word.

VeretyefF burst out laughing, then lapsed into
meditation.

" But with whom is he going to fight? ''—he
asked.

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" That 's what I cannot say,''— returned Ivan
flitch.

" At all events, with whom has he been talk-
ing? "

" With different people. . . . With Egor
Kapitonitch. It cannot be that he is going to
fight with him?"

Veretyeff went away from Ivan flitch.

So, then, they made a punch, and began to
drink. Veretyeff was sitting in the most con-
spicuous place. Jolly and profligate, he held the
pre-eminence in gatherings of young men. He
threw off his waistcoat and neckcloth. He was
asked to sing; he took a guitar and sang several
songs. Heads began to wax rather hot; the
young men began to propose toasts. Suddenly
Steltchmsky, all red in the face, sprang upon
the table, and elevating his glass high above his
head, exclaimed loudly:

" To the health .... of I know whom," —
he hastily caught himself up, drank off his liquor,
and smashed his glass on the floor, adding: —
" May my foe be shivered into just such pieces
to-morrow!"

Veretyeff, who had long had his eye on him,
swiftly raised his head. . . .

" Steltchinsky,"— said he,—" in the first place,
get off the table ; that 's indecorous, and you have
very bad boots into the bargain ; and, in the second
place, come hither, I will tell thee something."

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He led him aside.

" Hearken, brother; I know that thou art go-
ing to fight to-morrow with that gentleman from
Petersburg/'

Steltchinsky started.

" How .... who told thee? "

" I tell thee it is so. And I also know on
whose account thou art going to fight."

" Who is it? I am curious to know."

"Akh, get out with thee, thou Talleyrand I
My sister's, of course. Come, come, don't pre-
tend to be surprised. It gives you a goose-
like expression. I can't imagine how this
has come about, but it is a fact. That will
do, my good fellow,"— pursued VeretyefF.—
*' What 's the use of shamming? I know, you
see, that you have been paying court to her this
long time."

" But, nevertheless, that does not prove . . • ."

" Stop, if you please. But hearken to what
I am about to say to you. I won't permit that
duel under any circimastances whatsoever. Dost
understand? All this folly will descend upon
my sister. Excuse me: so long as I am alive

that shall not be. As for thou and I, we

shall perish— we 're on the road to it; but she
must live a long time yet, and live happily. Yes,
I swear,"— he added, with sudden heat,—" that
I will betray all others, even those who might
be ready to sacrifice everything for me, but I will

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not permit any one to touch a single hair of her
head."

Steltchmsky emitted a forced laugh.

" Thou art drunk, my dear fellow, and art
raving .... that 's all."

" And art not thou, I 'd like to know? But
whether I am drunk or not, is a matter of not
the slightest consequence. But I 'm talking
business. Thou shalt not fight with that gentle-
man, I guarantee that. And what in the world
possessed thee to have anything to do with him?
Hast grown jealous, pray? Well, those speak
the truth who say that men in love are stupid!
Why she danced with him simply in order to pre-
vent his inviting .... Well, but that *s not the
point. But this duel shall not take place."

" H'm! I should like to see how thou wilt pre-
vent me?"

"Well, then, this way: if thou dost not in-
stantly give me thy word to renounce this duel,
I will fight with thee myself."

" ReaUy? "

" My dear fellow, entertain no doubt on that
score. I will insult thee on the spot, my little
friend, in the presence of every one, in the most
fantastic manner, and then fight thee across
a handkerchief, if thou wilt. But I think that
will be disagreeable to thee, for many reasons,
hey?"

Steltchmsky flared up, began to say that this
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was intimidation/ that he would not permit any
one to meddle with his affairs, that he would not
stick at anything . . . • and wound up by sub-
mitting, and renouncing all attempts on the life
of Vladimir Sergyeitch. Veretyeff embraced
him, and half an hour had not elapsed, before the
two had already drunk Briiderschaft for the
tenth time, — that is to say, they drank with arms
interlocked.. . . . The young man who had acted
as floor-manager of the ball also drank Briider-
schaft with them, and at first clung close to them,
but finally fell asleep in the most innocent man-
ner, and lay for a long time on his back in a con-
dition of complete insensibility. . . . The ex-
pression of his tiny, pale face was both amusing
and pitiful. . . . Good heavens! what would
those fashionable ladies, his acquaintances, have
said, if they had beheld him in that condition 1
But, luckily for him, he was not acquainted with
a single fashionable lady.

Ivan llitch also distinguished himself on that
night. First he amazed the guests by suddenly
striking up: "In the country a Baron once
dwelt."

" The hawfinch! The hawfinch has begun to
sing!"— shouted all. "When has it ever hap-
pened that a hawfinch has sung by night? "

" As though I knew only one song," — retorted

^ He uses an impromptu Russification of a foreign word:
irUimidcUziya, —Translator.

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Ivan Ilitch, who was heated with liquor; — "I
know some more, too."

" Come, come, come, show us your art."
Ivan Ilitch maintained silence for a while, and
suddenly struck up in a bass voice: " Krambam-
buli,^ bequest of our fathers 1" but so incoher-
ently and strangely, that a general outburst of
laughter immediately drowned his voice, and he
fell silent. When all had dispersed, Veretyeff
betook himself to Vladimir Sergyeitch, and the
brief conversation already reported, ensued be-
tween them.

On the following day, Vladimir Sergyeitch
drove off to his own Sasovo very early. He
passed the whole morning in a state of excite-
ment, came near mistaking a passing merchant
for a second, and breathed freely only when his
lackey brought him a letter from Steltchinsky.
Vladimir Sergyeitch perused that letter several
times,— it was very adroitly worded. . • . Stel-
tchinsky began with the words: '^ La nuit porte
conseil. Monsieur^' — made no excuses whatever,
because, in his opinion, he had not insulted his
antagonist in any way; but admitted that he
had been somewhat irritated on the preceding
evening, and wound up with the statement that
he held himself entirely at the disposition of Mr.
Astakhoff {''de M-r Astdkhof) , but no longer
demanded satisfaction himself. After having

1 A mixed drink.— Translator.

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composed and despatched a reply, which was
filled, simultaneously with courtesy which bor-
dered on playfulness, and a sense of dignity, in
which, however, no trace of braggadocio was per-
ceptible, Vladimir Sergyeitch sat down to din-
ner, rubbing his hands, ate with great satisfac-
tion, and immediately afterward set off, without
having even sent relays on in advance. The
road along which he drove passed at a distance
of four versts from Ipatoff's manor. . . . Vla-
dimir Sergyeitch looked at it.

"Farewell, region of dead calml"— he said
with a smile.

The images of Nadezhda Alexyeevna and Ma-
rya Pavlovna presented themselves for a moment
to his imagination; he dismissed them with a wave
of his hand, and sank into a doze.

More than three months had passed. Autumn
had long since set in ; the yellow forests had grown
bare, the tomtits had arrived, and— unfailing
sign of the near approach of winter— the wind
nad begun to howl and wail. But there had been
no heavy rains, as yet, and mud had not suc-
ceeded in spreading itself over the roads. Tak-
ing advantage of this circumstance, Vladimir
Sergyeitch set out for the government capital,

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for the purpose of winding up several matters of
business. He spent the morning in driving about,
and in the evening went to the club. In the vast,
gloomy hall of the club he encountered several
acquaintances, and, among others, the old retired
captain of cavalry Flitch, a busybody, wit, gam-
bler, and gossip, well known to every one. Vla-
dimir Sergyeitch entered into conversation with
him.

"Ah, by the wayl"— suddenly exclaimed the
retired cavalry-captain; "an acquaintance of
yours passed through here the other day, and left
her compliments for you."

"Who was she?"

" Madame Steltchinsky."

" I don't know any Madame Steltchinsky."

" You knew her as a girl. . . . She was bom
Veretyeff. . . . Nadezhda Alexyeevna. Her
husband served our Governor. You must have
seen him also. ... A lively man, with a mous-
tache. . . . He 's hooked a splendid woman, with ,
money to boot." i

" You don't say so,"— said Vladimir Sergye-
itch.—" So she has married him. . . . H'm!
And where have they gone? "

"To Petersburg. She also bade me remind i
you of a certain bonbon motto. . . . What sort i
of a motto was it, allow me to inquire? "

And the old gossip thrust forward his sharp
nose. I

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" I don't remember, really; some jest or other,"
— returned Vladimir Sergyeiteh.— " But permit
me to ask, where is her brother now? "

" Piotr? Well, he 's in a bad way."
Mr. Flitch rolled up his small, foxy eyes, and
heaved a sigh.

" Why, what 's the matter? "—asked Vladimir
Sergyeiteh.

" He has taken to dissipation! He 's a ruined
man."

" But where is he now? "

" It is absolutely unknown where he is. He
went off somewhere or other after a gipsy girl;
that 's the most certain thing of all. He 's not in
this government, I '11 guarantee that."

" And does old Ipatoff still live there? "

" Mikhail Nikolaitch? That eccentric old fel-
low? Yes, he still lives there."

" And is everything in his household .... as
it used to be?"

" Certainly, certainly. Here now, why don't
you marry his sister-in-law? She 's not a woman,
you know, she 's simply a moniunent, really.
Ha, ha! People have already been talking
among us .... * why,' say they . . . ."

"You don't say so, sir,"— articulated Vladi-
mir Sergyeiteh, narrowing his eyes.

At that moment. Flitch was invited to a card-
game, and the conversation terminated.

Vladimir Sergj'^eitch had intended to return
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home promptly; but suddenly he received by
special messenger a report from the overseer, that
six of the peasants' homesteads had burned down
in Sasovo, and he decided to go thither himself.
The distance from the government capital to Sa-
sovo was reckoned at sixty versts. Vladimir Ser-
gyeitch arrived toward evening at the wing with
which the reader is already acquainted, inmiedi-
ately gave orders that the overseer and clerk
should be summoned, scolded them both in proper
fashion, inspected the scene of the conflagration
next morning, took the necessary measures, and
after dinner, after some wavering, set ofi^ to
visit Ipatoff. Vladimir Sergyeitch would have
remained at home, had he not heard from Flitch
of Nadezhda Alexyeevna's departure; he did not
wish to meet her; but he was not averse to taking
another look at Marya Pavlovna.

Vladimir Sergyeitch, as on the occasion of his
first visit, found Ipatofi^ busy at draughts with
The Folding Soul. The old man was delighted
to see him; yet it seemed to Vladimir Sergyeitch
as though his face were troubled, and his speech
did not flow freely and readily as of old.

Vladimir Sergyeitch exchanged a silent glance
with Ivan tlitch. Both winced a little; but they
speedily recovered their serenity.

" Are all yom* family well? "—inquired Vladi-
mir Sergyeitch.

" Yes, thank God, I thank you sincerely,"—
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replied Ipatoff.— " Only Marya Pavlovna is n't
quite . . . you know, she stays in her room most
of the time."

" Has she caught cold? "

" No • . . she just likes to. She will make her
appearance at tea."

" And Egor Kapitonitch? What is he doing? "

" Akhl Egor Kapitonitch is a dead man. His
wife has died."

"It cannot be!"

" She died in twenty-four hours, of cholera.
You would n't know him now, he has become
simply unrecognisable. ' Without Matryona
Markovna,' he says, ' life is a burden to me. I
shall die,' he says, ' and God be thanked,' he says;
* I don't wish to live,' says he. Yes, he 's done
for, poor feUow."

" Akhl good heavens, how unpleasant that isl "
—exclaimed Vladimir Sergyeitch.— "Poor Egor
Kapitonitch I"

All were silent for a time.

" I hear that your pretty neighbour has mar-
ried,"— remarked Vladimir Sergyeitch, flushing
faintly.

" Nadezhda Alexyeevna? Yes, she has."

Ipatoff darted a sidelong glance at Vladimir
Sergyeitch.

" Certainly .... certainly, she has married
and gone away."

"To Petersburg?"

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" To St. Petersburg."

" Mdrya Pavlovna must miss her, I think. I
believe they were great friends."

" Of course she misses her. That cannot be
avoided. But as for friendship, I '11 just tell
you, that the friendship of girls is even worse
than the friendship of men. So long as they are
face to face, it 's all right; but, otherwise, it van-
ishes."

"Do you think so?"

"Yes, by Heaven, 't is so! Take Nadezhda
Alexyeevna, for example. She has n't written
to us since she went away; but how she promised,
even vowed that she would! In truth, she 's in
no mood for that now."

" And has she been gone long? "

" Yes; it must be fully six weeks. She hur-
ried off on the very day after the wedding, for-
eign fashion."

" I hear that her brother is no longer here,
either? "—said Vladimir Sergyeitch, after a brief
pause.

" No; he is not. They are city folk, you see;
as though they would live long in the country! "

" And does no one know where he has gone? "

" No."

" He just went into a rage, and— slap-bang j
on the ear," remarked Ivan tlitch.

" He just went into a rage, and— slap-bang on
the ear," repeated Ipatoff . " Well, and how about

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yourself, Vladimir Sergyeitch,— what nice things
have you been doing?"— he added, wheeling
round on his chair.

Vladimir Sergyeitch began to tell about him-
self; Ipatoff listened and listened to him, and at
last exclaimed:

" But why does n't Marya Pdvlovna come?
Thou hadst better go for her, Ivan tlitch/'

Ivan llitch left the room, and returning, re-
ported that Marya Pavlovna would be there di-
rectly.

" What 's the matter? Has she got a head-
ache? "—inquired Ipatoff, in an undertone.

" Yes," replied Ivan tlitch.

The door opened, and Marya Pavlovna en-
tered. Vladimir Sergyeitch rose, bowed, and
could not utter a word, so great was his amaze-
ment: so changed was Marya Pavlovna since
he had seen her the last time! The rosy
bloom had vanished from her emaciated
cheeks; a broad black ring encircled her eyes;
her lips were bitterly compressed; her whole
face, impassive and dark, seemed to have become
petrified.

She raised her eyes, and there was no spark
in them.

" How do you feel now? " Ipatoff asked her.

" I am well,"— she replied; .and sat down at the
table, on which the samovdr was already bub-
bling.

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Vladimir Sergyeitch was pretty thoroughly
bored that evening. But no one was in good
spirits. The conversation persisted in taking a
cheerless turn.

"Just listen/'— said Ipatoff, among other
things, as he lent an ear to the howling of the
wind;— "what notes it emits! The summer is
long since past; and here is autumn passing, too,
and winter is at the door. Again we shall be
buried in snow-drifts. I hope the snow will fall
very soon. Otherwise, when you go out into the
garden, melancholy descends upon you. . • • Just
as though there were some sort of a ruin there.
The branches of the trees clash together. • • .
Yes, the fine days are overl "

" They are over,"— repeated Ivan flitch.

Marya Pavlovna stared silently out of the win-
dow.

" God willing, they will return," — remarked
Ipatoff.

No one answered him.

" Do you remember how finely they sang songs
here that time? "—said Vladimir Sergyeitch.

" I should think they did,"— replied the old
man, with a sigh.

" But you might sing to us,"— went on Vla-
dimir Sergyeitch, turning to Marya Pavlovna;
— " you have such a fine voice."

She did not answer him.

" And how is your mother? "—Vladimir Ser-

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gyeitch inquired of Ipatoff, not knowing what
to talk about.

" Thank God! she gets on nicely, considering
her ailments. She came over in her little car-
riage to-day. She 's a broken tree, I must tell
you— creak, creak, and the first you know, some
young, strong sapling falls over; but she goes
on standing and standing. Ekh, ha, ha I "

Marya Pavlovna dropped her hands in her lap,
and bowed her head.

" And, nevertheless, her existence is hard," —
began Ipatoff again;— " rightly is it said: * old
age is no joy.' "

" And there 's no joy in being young,"— said
Marya Pavlovna, as though to herself.

Vladimir Sergyeitch would have liked to re-
turn home that night, but it was so dark out of
doors that he could not make up his mind to
set out. He was assigned to the same chamber,
up-stairs, in which, three months previously, he
had passed a troubled night, thanks to Egor
Kapitonitch. . . .

" Does he snore now? "—thought Vladimir
Sergyeitch, as he recalled his drilling of his ser-
vant, and the sudden appearance of Mdrya Pav-
lovna in the garden. . . .

Vladimir Sergyeitch walked to the window,
and laid his brow against the cold glass. His
own face gazed dimly at him from out of doors,
as though his eyes were riveted upon a black cur-

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tain, and it was only after a considerable time
that he wais able to make out against the star-
less sky the branches of the trees, writhing wildly
in the gloom. They were harassed by a tur-
bulent wind.

Suddenly it seemed to Vladimir Sergyeitch
as though something white had flashed along the
ground. . . . He gazed more intently, laughed,
shrugged his shoulders, and exclaiming in an un-
dertone: "That 's what imagination will do!"
got into bed.

He fell asleep very soon ; but he was not fated
to pass a quiet night on this occasion either. He
was awakened by a running to and fro, which
arose in the house. . . . He raised his head from
the pillow. . . . Agitated voices, exclamations,
hurried footsteps were audible, doors were bang-
ing; now the sound of women weeping rang out,
shouts were set up in the garden, other cries f ar-
ther off^ responded. . . . The uproar in the house
increased, and became more noisy with every mo-
ment. . . . "Fire!" flashed through Vladimir
Sergyeitch's mind. In alarm he sprang from
his bed, and rushed to the window; but there
was no redness in the sky; only, in the garden,
points of flame were moving briskly along the
paths,— caused by people running about with
lanterns. Vladimir Sergyeitch went quickly to
the door, opened it, and ran directly into Ivan
Ilitch. Pale, dishevelled, half -clothed, the lat-

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ter was dashing onward, without himself knowing
whither,

"What is it? What has happened? "—in-
quired Vladimir Sergyeitch, excitedly, seizing
him by the arm.

" She has disappeared; she has thrown herself
into the water,"— replied Ivan llitch, in a chok-
ing voice.

" Who has thrown herself into the water? Who
has disappeared?"

" Marya Pavlovna! Who else could it be but
Marya Pavlovna? She has perished, the darling!
Help! Good heavens, let us run as fast as we
can ! Be quick, my dear people I "

And Ivan llitch rushed down the stairs.

Vladimir Sergyeitch put on his shoes somehow,
threw his cloak over his shoulders, and ran after
him.

In the house he no longer encountered any one,
all had hastened out into the garden; only the
little girls, Ipatoff's daughters, met him in the
corridor, near the anteroom; deadly pale with
terror, they stood there in their little white petti-
coats, with clasped hands and bare feet, beside
a night-lamp set on the floor. Through the draw-
ing-room, past an overturned table, flew Vladi-
mir Sergyeitch to the terrace. Through the
grove, in the direction of the dam, light and
shadows were flashing. . . .

" Go for boat-hooks I Go for boat-hooks as

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quickly as possible! ''—Ipatoff's voice could be
heard shouting.

" A net, a net, a boat! "—shouted other voices.

Vladimir Sergyeitch ran in the direction of the
shouts. He found Ipatoff on the shore of the
pond; a lantern hung on a bough brilliantly illu-
minated the old man's grey head. He was wring-
ing his hands, and reeling like a drunken man;
by his side, a woman lay writhing and sobbing
on the grass; round about men were bustling.
Ivan flitch had already advanced into the water
up to his knees, and was feeling the bottom with
a pole; a coachman was undressing, trembling
all over as he did so; two men were dragging a
boat along the shore; a sharp trampling of hoofs
was audible along the village street. . . . The wind
swept past with a shriek, as though endeavouring
to quench the lantern, while the pond plashed
noisily, darkling in a menacing way. . . .

"What do I hear? " — exclaimed Vladimir Ser-
gyeitch, rushing up to Ipatoff.—" Is it possible? "

"The boat-hooks— fetch the boat-hooks!"—
moaned the old man by way of reply to him. . . .

" But good gracious, perhaps you are mistaken,
Mikhail Nikolaitch. . . ."

" No, mistaken indeed ! " — said the woman
who was lying on the grass, Marya Pavlovna's
maid, in a tearful voice. " Unlucky creature that
I am, I heard her myself, the darling, throw her-
self into the water, and struggling in the water,

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and screaming: * Save me!' and then, once more:
* Save me!'"

" Why did n't you prevent her, pray? "
"But how was I to prevent her, dear little
father, my lord? Why, when I discovered it, she
was no longer in her room, but my heart had a
foreboding, you know; these last days she has
been so sad all the time, and has said nothing; so
I knew how it was, and rushed straight into the
garden, just as though some one had made me
do it; and suddenly I heard something go splash!
into the water : * Save me ! ' I heard the cry : ' Save
me!' .... Okh, my darling, light of my eyes!"
" But perhaps it only seemed so to thee! "
" Seemed so, forsooth! But where is she? what
has become of her? "

" So that is what looked white to me in the
gloom," thought Vladimir Sergyeitch. . . .

In the meanwhile, men had run up with boat-
hooks, dragged thither a net, and begun to spread
it out on the grass, a great throng of people had
assembled, a conmaotion had arisen, and a jost-
ling .... the coachman seized one boat-hook,
the village lelder seized another, both sprang into
the boat, put off, and set to searching the water
with the hooks; the people on the shore lighted
them. Strange and dreadful did their move-
ments seem, and their shadows in the gloom,
above the agitated pond, in the dim and uncertain
light of the lanterns.

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" He . . . here, the hook has caught!"— sud-
denly cried the coachman.

All stood stock-still where they were.

The coachman pulled the hook toward him, and
bent over. . . . Something horned and black
slowly came to the surface. . . .

" A tree-stiunp,"— said the coachman, pulling
away the hook.

" But come back, come back! "—they shouted
to him from the shore.—" Thou wilt accomplish
nothing with the hooks; thou must use the
net."

" Yes, yes, the net! "—chimed in others.

" Stop,"— said the elder;—" I Ve got hold of
something also .... something soft, appar-
ently,"— he added, after a brief pause.

A white spot made its appearance alongside
the boat. • • •

"The young lady!"— suddenly shouted the
elder.-" 'T is she!"

He was not mistaken. . . . The hook had
caught Marya Pavlovna by the sleeve of her
gown. The coachman inmiediately seized her,
dragged her out of the water . • • • in a couple
of powerful strokes the boat was at the shore.
.... Ipdtoff, Ivdn Ilitch, Vladimir Sergyeitdi,
all rushed to Mdrya Pdvlovna, raised her up,
bore her home in their arms, immediately im-
dressed her, and began to roll her, and warm her.
.... But all their efforts, their exertions,

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proved vain. . . . Marya Pavlovna did not come
to herself. . . . Life had already left her.

Early on the following morning, Vladimir
Sergyeiteh left Ipatovka; before his departure,
he went to bid farewell to the dead woman.
She was lying on the table in the drawing-room
in a white gown. . . . Her thick hair was not yet
entirely dry, a sort of mournful surprise was ex-
pressed on her pale face, which had not had time
to grow distorted; her parted lips seemed to be
trying to speak, and ask something; . . . her
hands, convulsively clasped, as though with grief,
were pressed tight to her breast. . . . But with what-
ever sorrowful thought the poor drowned girl had
perished, death had laid upon her the seal of its
eternal silence and peace .... and who under-
stands what a dead face expresses during those
few moments when, for the last time, it meets the
glance of the living before it vanishes forever
and is destroyed in the grave?

Vladimir Sergyeiteh stood for a while in deco-
rous meditation before the body of Marya Pa-
vlovna, crossed himself thrice, and left the room,
without having noticed Ivdn flitch who was
weeping softly in one comer. . . . And he
was not the only one who wept that day:
all the servants in the house wept bitterly:
Mdrya Pavlovna had left a good memory be-
hind her.

The following is what old Ipatoff wrote, a
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week later, in reply to a letter which had come,
at last, from Nadezhda Alexyeevna:

** One week ago, dear Madam, Nadezhda Alexyeevna,
my unhappy sister-in-law, your acquaintance, Mdrya
Pdvlovna, wilfully ended her own life, by throwing herself
by night into the pond, and we have already committed
her body to the earth. She decided upon this sad and ter-
rible deed, without having bidden me farewell, without
leaving even a letter or so much as a note, to declare her
last will. • . . But you know better than any one else,
Nadezhda Alexyeevna, on whose soul this great and
deadly sin must fall! May the Lord Gkxi judge your
brother, for my sister-in-law could not cease to love him,
nor survive the separation. . . /'

Nadezhda Alexyeevna received this letter in
Italy, whither she had gone with her husband.
Count de Steltchinsky, as he was called in all the
hotels. He did not visit hotels alone, however;
he was frequently seen in gambling-houses, in
the Kur-Saal at the baths. ... At first he lost
a great deal of money, then he ceased to lose, and
his face assumed a peculiar expression, not pre-
cisely suspicious, nor yet precisely insolent, Uke
that which a man has who imexpectedly gets in-
volved in scandals. . . . He saw his wife rarely.
But Nadezhda Alexyeevna did not languish in
his absence. She developed a passion for paint-
ing and the fine arts. She associated chiefly with
artists, and was fond of discussing the beautiful

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with young men. Ipatoff's letter grieved her
greatly, but did not prevent her going that same
day to " the Dogs' Cave," to see how the poor
animals suffocated when immersed in sulphur
fumes.

She did not go alone. She was escorted by
divers cavaliers. Among their number, a certain
Mr. Popelin, an artist— a Frenchman, who had
not finished his course— with a small beard, and
dressed in a checked sack-coat, was the most
agreeable. He sang the newest romances in a
thin tenor voice, made very free-and-easy jokes,
and although he was gaunt of form, yet he ate
a very great deal.

VII

It was a sunny, cold January day; a multitude
of people were strolling on the Nevsky Pros-
pekt. The clock on the tower of the city hall
marked three o'clock. Along the broad stone
slabs, strewn with yellow sand, was walking,
among others, our acquaintance Vladimir Ser-
gyeitch Astdkhoff. He has grown very virile
since we parted from him; his face is framed in
whiskers, and he has grown plump all over, but
he has not aged. He was moving after the
crowd at a leisurely pace, and now and then
casting a glance about him; he was expecting his

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wife; she had preferred to drive up in the car-
riage with her mother. Vladimir Sergy^itch mar-
ried five years ago, precisely in the manner which
he had always desired: his wife was wealthy, and
with the best of connections. Courteously lifting
his splendidly brushed hat when he met his nu-
merous acquaintances, Vladimir Sergyeitch was
still stepping out with the free stride of a man
who is satisfied with his lot, when suddenly, just
at the Passage,* he came near colliding with a
gentleman in a Spanish cloak and f oraging-cap,
with a decidedly worn face, a dyed moustache,
and large, swollen eyes. Vladimir Sergyeitch
drew aside with dignity, but the gentleman in the
foraging-cap glanced at him, and suddenly ex-
claimed:

" Ah! Mr. Astakhoff, how do you do? "

Vladimir Sergyeitch made no reply, and
stopped short in surprise. He could not com-
prehend how a gentleman who could bring him-
self to walk on the Nevsky in a foraging-cap
could be acquainted with his name.

"You do not recognise me,"— pursued the gen-
tleman in the cap:—" I saw you eight years ago,
in the country, in the T*** Government, at the
Ipatoffs'. My name is Veretyeff."

"Akhl Good heavens! excuse m6l"— ex-

^A large collection of shops, under one roof, extending from the
N^vsky Prosp^t to the Bolshiiya Italy&nskaya (''Great Italian
Street"), in St. Petersburg.— Tbanslatob.

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claimed Vladimir Sergyeitch.— " But how you
have changed since then! . . ."

" Yes, I have grown old,"— returned Piotr
Alexyeitch, passing his hand, which was devoid
of a glove, over his face.—" But you have not
changed."

Veretyeff had not so much aged as fallen
away and sunk down. Small, delicate wrinkles
covered his face; and when he spoke, his lips and
cheeks twitched slightly. From all this it was
perceptible that the man had been living hard.

" Where have you disappeared to all this time,
that you have not been visible? "—Vladimir Ser-
gyeitch asked him.

" I have been wandering about here and there.
And you have been in Petersburg all the while? "

" Yes, most of the time."

" Are you married? "

" Yes."

And Vladimir Sergyeitch assimied a rather
severe mien, as though with the object of saying
to Veretyeff: " My good fellow, don't take it into
thy head to ask me to present thee to my wife."

Veretyeff understood him, apparently. An
indifferent sneer barely flitted across his lips.

" And how is your sister? "—inquired Vladi-
mir Sergyeitch.—" Where is she? "

" I cannot tell you for certain. She must be in
Moscow. I have not received any letters from
her this long time!"

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" Is her husband alive? "

" Yes."

" And Mr. Ipatoff ? "

" I don't know; probably he is alive also; but
he may be dead."

"And that gentleman— what the deuce was
his name?— Bodryakoff,— what of him? "

" The one you invited to be your second — you
remember, when you were so scared? Why, the
devil knows!"

Vladimir Sergyeitch maintained silence for a
while, with dignity written on his face.

" I always recall with pleasure those even-
ings,"— he went on,—" when I had the opportu-
nity " (he had nearly said, " the honour ") " of
making the acquaintance of your sister and your-
self. She was a very amiable person. And do
you sing as agreeably as ever? "

" No; I have lost my voice. . . . But that was
a good time!"

" I visited Ipatovka once afterward,"— added
Vladimir Sergyeitch, elevating his eyebrows
mournfully. " I think that was the name of that
village— on the very day of a terrible event. . . ."

" Yes, yes, that was frightful, frightf ul,"-
Veretyeff hastily interrupted him.—" Yes, yes.
And do you remember how you came near fight- |
ing with my present brother-in-law? "

" H'm! I remember 1 "—replied Vladimir Ser-
gyeitch, slowly.—" However, I must confess to

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you that so much time has elapsed since then, that
all that sometimes seems to me like a dream. . . ."

" Like a dream,"— repeated Veretyeff, and his
pale cheeks flushed;— " like a dream .... no,
it was not a dream, for me at all events. It was
the time of youth, of mirth and happiness, the
time of unlimited hopes, and invincible powers;
and if it was a dream, then it was a very beau-
tiful dream. And now, you and I have grown
old and stupid, we dye our moustaches, and
saunter on the Nevsky, and have become good
for nothing; like broken-winded nags, we have
become utterly vapid and worn out; it cannot
be said that we are pompous and put on airs, nor
that we spend our time in idleness; but I fear
we drown our grief in drink,— that is more like
a dream, and a hideous dream. Life has been
lived, and lived in vain, clumsily, vulgarly —that 's
what is bitter! That 's what one would like to
shake off like a dream, that 's what one would
like to recover one's self from! .... And then
.... everywhere, there is one frightful memory,
one ghost. . . . But farewell 1 "

VeretyeflT walked hastily away; but on coming
opposite the door of one of the principal con-
fectioners on the Nevsky, he halted, entered, and
after drinking a glass of orange vodka at the
buffet, he wended his way through the biUiard-
room, all dark and dim with tobacco-smoke, to
the rear room. There he found several acquaint-

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ances, his former comrades— Petya Lazurin, K6-
stya Kovrovsky, and Prince Serdiukoff, and two
other gentlemen who were called simply Vasiuk,
and Fildt. All of them were men no longer
young, though unmarried; some of them had lost
their hair, others were growing grey; their faces
were covered with wrinkles, their chins had grown
double; in a word, these gentlemen had all long
since passed their prime, as the saying is. Yet
all of them continued to regard VeretyefF as a
remarkable man, destined to astonish the uni-
verse; and he was wiser than they only because
he was very well aware of his utter and radical
uselessness. And even outside of his circle, there
were people who thought concerning him, that
if he had not ruined himself, the deuce only
knows what he would have made of himself. . . .
These people were mistaken. Nothing ever
comes of Veretyeffs.

Piotr Alexyeitch's friends welcomed him with
the customary greetings. At first he dumb-
founded them with his gloomy aspect and his
splenetic speeches; but he speedily calmed down,
cheered up, and affairs went on in their wonted
rut.

But Vladimir Sergyeitch, as soon as Veretyeff
left him, contracted his brows in a frown and
straightened himself up. Piotr Alexyeitch's un-
expected sally had astounded, even offended
him extremely.

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" ' We have grown stupid, we drink liquor, we
dye our moustaches ' . . • . parlez pour vous,
mon cher/'—he said at last, almost aloud, and
emitting a couple of snorts caused by an access
of involuntary indignation, he was preparing to
continue his stroll.

" Who was that talking with you? "—rang out
a loud and self-confident voice behind him.

Vladimir Sergyeitch turned round and beheld
one of his best friends, a certain Mr. Pomponsky.
This Mr. Pomponsky, a man of lofty stature,
and stout, occupied a decidedly important post,
and never once, from his very earUest youth, had
he doubted himself.

"Why, a sort of eccentric,"— said Vladimir
Sergyeitch, linking his arm in Mr. Pomponsky's.

" Grood gracious, Vladimir Sergyeitch, is it
permissible for a respectable man to chat on the
street with an individual who wears a f oraging-
cap on his head? 'T is indecent! I 'm amazed!
Where could you have made acquaintance with
such a person? "

" In the country."

" In the country. . . . One does not bow to
one's country neighbours in town . . . . ce n'est
pas comme il faut A gentleman should always
bear himself like a gentleman if he wishes
that • • • •"

"Here is my wife,"— Vladimir Sergyeitch
hastily interrupted him.—" Let us go to her."

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And the two gentlemen directed their steps
to a low-hung, elegant carriage, from whose win-
dow there peered forth the pale, weary, and irri-
tatingly-arrogant little face of a woman who was
still yomig, but already faded.

Behind her another lady, also apparently in a
bad himiour,— her mother, — was visible. Vladi-
mir Sergyeitch opened the door of the carriage,
and offered his arm to his wife. Pomponsky
gave his to the mother-in-law, and the two
couples made their way along the Nevsky Pros-
pekt, accompanied by a short, black-haired foot-
man in yellowish-grey gaiters, and with a big
cockade on his hat.

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A FRAGMENT FROM THE DIARY OF
A DEAD ARTIST

III

* ¥T is enough," I said to myself, while my feet,
JL treading unwillingly the steep slope of the
mountain, bore me downward toward the quiet
river; " it is enough," I repeated, as I inhaled the
resinous scent of the pine grove, to which the chill
of approaching evening had imparted a peculiar
potency and pungency; "it is enough," I said
once more, as I seated myself on a mossy hillock
directly on the brink of the river and gazed at its
dark, unhurried waves, above which a thick
growth of reeds hf ted their pale-green stalks. . . .
" It is enough!— Have done with dreaming, with
striving: *t is high time to pull thyself together;

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't is high time to clutch thy head with both hands
and bid thy heart be still. Give over pampering
thyself with the sweet indulgence of indefinite but
captivating sensations; give over ruining after
every new form of beauty ; give over seizing every
tremor of its delicate and powerful pinions. —
Everything is known, everything has been felt
over and over again many times already. ... I
am weary.— What care I that at this very mo-
ment the dawn is suffusing the sky ever more and
more broadly, like some inflamed, all-conquering
passion I What care I that two paces from me,
amid the tranquillity and the tenderness and the
gleam of evening, in the dewy depths of a mo-
tionless bush, a nightingale has suddenly burst
forth in such magical notes as though there had
never been any nightingales in the world before
it, and as though it were the first to chant the first
song of the first love! All that has been, has
been, I repeat; it has been recapitulated a thou-
sand times— and when one remembers that all
this will so continue for a whole eternity— as
though to order, by law— one even grows vexed!
Yes .... vexed!'*

IV.

Eh, how I have suffered! Formerly such
thoughts never entered my head— formerly, in
those happj'^ days when I myself was wont to

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flame like the glow of dawn, and to sing like the
nightingale.— I must confess that everything has
grown ohscure romid about me, all life has with-
ered. The light which gives to its colours both
significance and power— that light which ema-
nates from the heart of man— has become extinct
within me. . . . No, it has not yet become extinct—
but it is barely smouldering, without radiance
and without warmth. I remember how one day,
late at night, in Moscow, I stepped up to the
grated window of an ancient church and leaned
against the uneven glass. It was dark under the
low arches; a forgotten shrine-lamp flickered
with a red flame in front of an ancient holy
picture, and only the lips of the holy face were
visible, stem and suff^ering: mournful gloom
closed in around and seemed to be preparing to
crush with its dull weight the faint ray of un-
necessary light. . . . And in my heart reign now
the same sort of light and the same sort of gloom.

And this I write to thee— to thee, my only and
unforgettable friend; to thee, my dear compan-
ion,* whom I have left forever, but whom I shall
never cease to love until my life ends. . . . Alas!
thou knowest what it was that separated us. But
I will not refer to that now. I have left thee . . .

^ The Russian shows that a woman is addressed. —Translator.

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but even here, in this remote nook, at this dis-
tance, in this exile, I am all permeated with thee,
I am in thy power as of yore, as of yore I feel
the sweet pressure of thy hands upon my bowed
head!— Rising up for the last time, from the mute
grave in which I now am lying, I run a mild,
much-moved glance over all my past, over all
our past. . • • There is no hope and no return,
but neither is there any bitterness in me, or re-
gret; and clearer than the heavenly azure, purer
than the first snows on the mountain heights, are
my beautiful memories. . . . They do not press
upon me in throngs : they pass by in procession,
like those mufiled figures of the Athenian god-
born ones, which— dost thou remember?— we ad-
mired so greatly on the ancient bas-reliefs of the
Vatican. . . .

I HAVE just alluded to the light which ema-
nates from the human heart and illumines every-
thing which surrounds it. ... I want to talk with
thee about that time when that gracious light
burned in my heart.— Listen .... but I imagine
that thou art sitting in front of me, and gazing at
me with thine affectionate but almost severely-
attentive eyes. O eyes never to be forgotten!
On whom, on what are they now fixed? Who is
receiving into his soul thy glance— that glance

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M^hich seems to flow from mif athomable depths,
like those mysterious springs— like you both
bright and dark— which well up at the very bot-.
torn of narrow valleys, beneath overhanging
cliffs? • • • . Listen.

yii

It was at the end of March, just before the Feast
of the Annunciation, shortly after I saw thee
for the first time— and before I as yet suspected
what thou wert destined to become to me, al-
though I already bore thee, silently and secretly
in my heart.— I was obliged to cross one of the
largest rivers in Russia. The ice had not yet be-
gun to move in it, but it seemed to have swollen
up and turned dark; three days previously a thaw
had set in. The snow was melting round about
diligently but quietly; everywhere water was ooz-
ing out ; in the light air a soundless breeze was rov-
ing. The same even, milky hue enveloped earth
and sky : it was not a mist, but it was not light ; not
a single object stood out from the general opac-
ity; everything seemed both near and indistinct.
Leaving my kibitka far behind, I walked briskly
over the river-ice, and with the exception of the
beat of my own footsteps, I could hear nothing.
I walked on, enveloped on all sides by the first
stupor and breath of early spring .... and little
by little augmenting with every step, with every

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movement in advance, there gradually rose up and
grew within me a certain joyous incomprehensi-
ble agitation. • . • It drew me on, it hastened my
pace— and so powerful were its transports, that
I came to a standstill at last and looked about me
in surprise and questioningly, as though desirous
of detecting the outward cause of my ecstatic con-
dition. . . . All was still, white, sunny; but I raised
my eyes: high above flocks of migratory birds
were flying past. ..." Spring! Hail, Spring! " —
I shouted in a loud voice. " Hail, life and love
and happiness! "—And at that same instant, with
sweetly-shattering force, similar to the flower of
a cactus, there suddenly flared up within me thy
image— flared up and stood there, enchantingly
clear and beautiful — and I understood that I
loved thee, thee alone, that I was all filled witb
thee. • • •

VIII

I THINK of thee . . . and many other memories,
other pictures rise up before me,— and thou art
everywhere, on all the paths of my life I en-
counter thee.— Now there presents itself to me
an old Russian garden on the slope of a hill, il-
luminated by the last rays of the smmner sun.
From behind silvery poplars peeps forth the
wooden roof of the manor-house, with a slender
wreath of crimson smoke hanging above the white

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jraiey, and in the fence a wicket-gate stands
en a crack, as though some one had pulled it
Tvith undecided hand. And I stand and wait,
d gaze at that gate and at the sand on the gar-
n paths; I wonder and I am moved: everything
see seems to me remarkable and new, every-
ing is enveloped with an atmosphere of a sort
' bright, caressing mystery, and already I think
hear the swift rustle of footsteps; and I stand,
1 alert and light, like a bird which has just
)lded its wings and is poised ready to soar aloft
^ain— and my heart flames and quivers in joy-
as dread before the imminent happiness which
I flitting on in front. . . •

Then I behold an ancient cathedral in a distant,
beautiful land. The kneeling people are crowded
lose in rows; a prayerful chill, something sol-
ium and sad breathes forth from the lofty, bare
rault, from the huge pillars which branch up-
vard.— Thou art standing by my side, speechless
md unsympathetic, exactly as though thou wert
SI stranger to me; every fold of thy dark gown
hiangs motionless, as though sculptured; motion-
less lie the mottled reflections of the coloured
windows at thy feet on the well-worn flagstones.
—And now, vigorously agitating the air dim
with incense, inwardly agitating us, in a heavy

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surge the tones of the organ roll out ; and
hast turned pale and drawn thyself up ; thy
has touched me, has slipped on higher and
raised heavenward;— but it seems to me that oiil
a deathless soul can look like that and ^th m
eyes. . • .

Now another picture presents itself to me. — 'Ti
not an ancient temple which crushes us with it
stem magnificence: the low walls of a cosey litti
room separate us from the whole world. — Wha
am I saying? We are alone— aJone in all tJ)
world; except us two there is no living thing
beyond those friendly walls lie darkness azw
death and emptiness. That is not the wind howl
ing, that is not the rain streaming in floods; i
is Chaos wailing and groaning; it is its blind eyes,
weeping. But with us all is quiet and bright, and
warm and gracious; something diverting, some-
thing childishly innocent is fluttering about likel
a butterfly, is it not? We nestle up to each other,
we lean our heads together and both read a good
book; I feel the slender vein in thy delicate tem-
ple beating; I hear how thou art living, thou
hearest how I am Hving, thy smfle is bom upon
my face before it comes on thine; thou silently
repliest to my silent question; thy thoughts, my
thoughts, are like the two wings of one and the

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same bird drowned in the azure. • . The last par-
titions have fallen— and our love has become so
calm, so profound, every breach has vanished so
completely, leaving no trace behind it, that we do
not even wish to exchange a word, a glance. . . .
We only wish to breathe, to breathe together, to
live together, to be together, . . . and not even
to be conscious of the fact that we are to-
gether. . . .

Ok, in conclusion, there presents itself to me a
clear September morning when thou and I were
walking together through the deserted garden, as
yet not wholly out of bloom, of an abandoned
palace, on the bank of a great non-Russian river,
beneath the soft radiance of a cloudless sky. Oh,
how shall I describe those sensations?— that end-
lessly-flowing river, that absence of people, and
tranquillity, and joy, and a certain intoxicating
sadness, and the vibration of happiness, the un-
familiar, monotonous town, the autmnnal croak-
ing of the daws in the tall, bright trees— and
those affectionate speeches and smiles and
glances long and soft, which pierce to the very
bottom, and beauty,— the beauty in ourselves,
round about, everjrwhere; — it is beyond words.
Oh, bench on which we sat in silence, with heads
drooping low with happiness— I shall never for-

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get thee to my dying hour!— How charming
were those rare passers-by with their gentle
greeting and kind faces, and the large, quiet
boats which floated past (on one of them—
dost thou remember?— stood a horse gazing pen-
sively at the water gliding by under its feet) , the
childish babble of the little waves inshore and the
very barking of distant dogs over the expanse of
the river, the very shouts of the corpulent under-
officer at the red-cheeked recruits drilling there
on one side, with their projecting elbows and their
legs thrust forward like the legs of cranes! . • •
We both felt that there never had been and never
would be anything better in the world for us than
those moments— than all the rest. . . . But what
comparisons are these! Enough .... enough. . . ^
Alas! yes: it is enough.

XII

Foe the last time I have surrendered myself to
these memories, and I am parting from them irre-
vocably—as a miser, after gloating for the last
time upon his hoard, his gold, his bright trea-
sure, buries it in the damp earth; as the wick of
an exhausted lamp, after flashing up in one last
brilliant flame, becomes covered with grey ashes.
The little wild animal has peered forth for the
last time from his lair at the velvety grass, at the
fair little sun, at the blue, gracious waters, — and

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has retreated to the deepest level, and curled him-
self up in a ball, and fallen asleep. Will he have
visions, if only in his sleep, of the fair little sun,
and the grass, and the blue, gracious waters?

XIII

Sternly and ruthlessly does Fate lead each one
of us — and only in the early days do we, occu-
pied with all sorts of accidents, nonsense, our-
selves, fail to feel her harsh hand.— So long as
we are able to deceive ourselves and are not
ashamed to lie, it is possible to live and to hope
without shame. The truth— not the full truth
(there can be no question of that), but even that
tiny fraction which is accessible to us — immedi-
ately closes our mouths, binds our hands, and re-
duces "to negation."— The only thing that is
then left for a man, in order to keep erect on his
feet and not crumble to dust, not to become be-
mired in the ooze of self -f orgetf ulness, ... is self -
scorn ; is to turn cahnly away from everything and
say: "It is enoughl"— and folding his useless
arms on his empty breast to preserve the last, the
sole merit which is accessible to him, the merit of
recognising his own insignificance; the merit to
which Pascal alludes, when, calling man a think-

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ing reed, he says that if the entire universe were|
to crush him, he, that reed, would still be higher
than the universe because he would know that it
is crushing him— while it would not know that.
A feeble merit 1 Sad consolation 1 Try as thou
mayest to permeate thyself with it, to believe?
in it,— oh, thou my poor brother, whosoever thovj
mayest be 1— thou canst not refute those ominou.'^
words of the poet :

Life 's but a walking shadow, a poor player j

That struts and frets his hour upon the stage >
And then is heard no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing. . .^

I have cited the verses from " Macbeth," and those
witches, phantoms, visions have recurred to my
mind. . . . Alasl it is not visions, not fantastic,
subterranean powers that are terrible; the crea-
tions of Hoffmann are not dreadful, under what-
soever form they may present themselves. . . .
The terrible thing is that there is nothing terri-
ble, that the very substance of life itself is petty,
uninteresting— and insipid to beggary. Having
once become permeated with this consciousness,
having once tasted of this wormwood, no honey
will ever seem sweet — and even that loftiest,
sweetest happiness, the happiness of love, of
complete friendship, of irrevocable devotion —

1 " Macbeth," Act V, scene v.

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ere

leri it loses all its charm; all its worth is anni-
itted by its own pettiness, its brevity. Well,
it: a man has loved, he has burned, he has f al-
)yid words about eternal blLss, about immortal
fOyments— and behold: it is long, long since
[i last trace vanished of that worm which has
:en out the last remnants of his withered
igue. Thus late in autumn, on a frosty day,
len everything is lifeless and dumb in the last
ides of grass, on the verge of the denuded f or-
t, the sun has but to emerge for an instant from
e fog, to gaze intently at the chilled earth, and
imediately, from all sides, gnats rise up; they
olic in the warmth of his rays, they bustle and
•stle upward, downward, they circle round one
lother, . • . The sun hides himself, and the gnats
ill to the earth in a soft rain— and there is an
id to their momentary life.

XIV

But are there no great conceptions, no great
ords of consolation? Nationality, right, liberty,
amanity, art? " Yes; those words do exist, and
lany people live by them and for them. But
evertheless, I have an idea that if Shakspeare
rere to be bom again he would find no occasion
[) disclaim his " Hamlet," his " Lear." His pene-
rUing glance would not descry anything new in
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human existence: the same motley and, in
incoherent picture would still unfold itself befd
him in its disquieting monotony. The same fl
volity, the same cruelty, the same pressing J
mand for blood, gold, filth, the same stale pfej
sures, the same senseless sufferings in the nai|
of ... • well, in the name of the same nonsenl
which was ridiculed by Aristophanes three tba
sand years ago, the same coarse lures to which a
many-headed beast still yields as readily as e^
—in a word, the same anxious skipping of tl
squirrel in the same old wheel, which has not evi
been renewed. . . . Shakspeare would again mal
Lear repeat his harsh: "There are no guil
ones " — which, in other words, signifies: " The
are no just"— and he also would say: "It
enough 1" and he also would turn away.— Op
thing only: perhaps, in contrast to the gloom
tragic tyrant Richard, the ironical genius of tli
great poet would like to draw another, more u]
to-date tyrant, who is almost ready to belies
in his own virtue and rests calmly at night
complains of the over-dainty dinner at the
time that his half -stifled victims are endeavi
ing to comfort themselves by at least imaj
him as Richard III. surrounded by the gb
of the people he has murdered. . . .

But to what purpose?

Why demonstrate— and that by picking
weighing one's words, by rounding and polish^

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one's speech— why demonstrate to gnats that
they really are gnats?

But art? . • . Beauty? . . . Yes, those are mighty
words; they are, probably, mightier than those
which I have mentioned above. The Venus of
Melos, for example, is more indubitable than the
Roman law, or than the principles of 1789. Men
may retort— and how many times have I heard
these retorts 1— that beauty itself is also a matter
of convention, that to the Chinese it presents it-
self in a totally different manner from what it
does to the European. . . . But it is not the con-
ventionality of art which disconcerts me; its per-
ishableness, and again its perishableness,— its
decay and dust— that is what deprives me of
courage and of faith. Art, at any given mo-
ment, is, I grant, more powerful than Nature it-
self, because in it there is neither symphony of
Beethoven nor picture of Ruysdael nor poem of
Goethe— and only dull-witted pedants or con-
scienceless babblers can still talk of art as a copy
of Nature. But in the long run Nature is ir-
resistible; she cannot be hurried, and sooner or
later she will assert her rights. Unconsciously
and infallibly obedient to law, she does not know
art, as she does not know liberty, as she does not
know good; moving onward from eternity, trans-

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mitted from eternity, she tolerates nothing im-
mortal, nothing michangeable. . . . Man is her
child; but the hmnan, the artificial is inimical to
her, precisely because she strives to be unchange-
able and immortal. Man is the child of Nature;
but she is the universal mother, and she has no
preferences : everything which exists in her bosom
I has arisen only for the benefit of another and
must, in due time, make way for that other— she
j creates by destroying, and it is a matter of perfect
indiff'erence to her what she creates, what she de-
I stroys, if only life be not extirpated, if only death
\ do not lose its rights. . . . And therefore she as
calmly covers with mould the divine visage of
Phidias's Jupiter as she does a plain pebble, and
. delivers over to be devoured by the contemned
I moth the most precious lines of Sophocles. Men,
, it is true, zealously aid her in her work of exter-
I mination; but is not the same elementary force, —
is not the force of Nature shown in the finger of
the barbarian who senselessly shattered the radiant
brow of Apollo, in the beast-like howls with which
he hurled the picture of Apelles into the fire?
How are we poor men, poor artists, to come to
an agreement with this deaf and dumb force,
blind from its birth, which does not even triumph
in its victories, but marches, ever marches on
ahead, devouring all things? How are we to
stand up against those heavy, coarse, intermina-
bly and incessantly onrolling waves, how believe,

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n short, in the significance and worth of those
perishable images which we, in the darkness, on
bhe verge of the abyss, mould from the dust and
for a mere instant?

XVI

Aix this is so ... . but only the transitory is beau-
tiful, Shakspeare has said; and Nature herself, in
the unceasing play of her rising and vanishing
forms, does not shun beauty. Is it not she who
sedulously adorns the most momentary of her
offspring— the petals of the flowers, the wings
of the butterfly-with such charming colours?
Is it not she who imparts to them such exquisite
outhnes? It is not necessary for beauty to live
forever in order to be immortal— one moment is
sufficient for it. That is so; that is just, I grant
you— but only in cases wher^ there is no per-
sonality, where man is not, liberty is not: the
faded wing of the butterfly comes back again, and
a thousand years later, with the selfsame wing
of the selfsame butterfly, necessity sternly and
regularly and impartially fulfils its round ....
but man does not repeat himself like the butter-
fly, and the work of his hands, his art, his free
creation once destroyed, is annihilated forever.
• . . To him alone is it given to " create " . . . . but
it is strange and terrible to articulate: " We are
creators . . • . for an hour,"— as there once was,

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they say, a caliph for an hour.— Therein lies oui
supremacy— and our curse: each one of these
" creators " in himself —precisely he, not any one
else, precisely that ego— seems to have been cre-
ated with deliberate intent, on a plan previously
designed; each one more or less dimly under-
stands his significance, feels that he is akin to
something higher, something eternal — and he
lives, he is bound to live in the moment and for
the moment.* Sit in the mud, my dear fellow,
and strive toward heaven!— The greatest among
us are precisely those who are the most pro-
foundly conscious of all of that fundamental
•contradiction; but in that case the question
arises,— are the words " greatest, great " appro-
priate?

XVII

But what shall be said of those to whom, despite
a thorough desire to do so, one cannot apply those
appellations even in the sense which is attributed
to them by the feeble human tongue ?— What shall
be said of the ordinary, commonplace, second-
rate, third-rate toilers— whoever they may be—
statesmen, learned men, artists— especially ar-

1 How can one fail to recall at this point the words of Mephistopbe-
les in "Faust":

" Er (Grott) findet sich in einen ew'gen Glanze,
Uns hat er in die Finstemiss gebracht—
Und euch taugt einzig Tag und Nacfat."

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tists? How force them to shake off their dumb
indolence, their dejected perplexity, how draw
them once more to the field of battle, if once the
thought as to the vanity of everything human, of
every activity which sets for itself a higher aim
than the winning of daily bread, has once crept
into their heads? By what wreaths are they lured
on— they, for whom laurels and thorns have be-
come equally insignificant? Why should they
again subject themselves to the laughter of " the
cold throng" or to "the condemnation of the
dunce,"— of the old dimce who cannot forgive
them for having turned away from the former
idols; of the young dunce who demands that they
shall immediately go down on their knees in his
company, that they should lie prone before new,
just-discovered idols? Why shall they betake
themselves again to that rag-fair of phantoms,
to that market-place where both the seller and the
buyer cheat each other equally, where everything
is so noisy, so loud— and yet so poor and worth-
less? Why "with exhaustion in their bones"
shall they interweave themselves again with that
world where the nations, like peasant urchins on
a festival day, floimder about in the mud for the
sake of a handful of empty nuts, or admire with
gaping mouths the wretched woodcuts, decorated
with tinsel gold,— with that world where they had
no right to life while they lived in it, and, deafen-
ing themselves with their own shouts, each one

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hastens with convulsive speed to a goal which he
neither knows nor understands? No . . . • no • • • •
It is enough .... enough . . • • enough!

XVIII

. . • The rest is silence,* . . .

^ This is in English in the original. — TiukKSiATOR.

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* r>UT if we can admit the possibility of the
JD supernatural, the possibility of its interven-
tion in real life,— then allow me to inquire, what
role is sound judgment bound to play after
this? "—shouted Anton Stepanitch, crossing his
arms on his stomach.

Anton Stepanitch had held the rank of State
Councillor,* had served in some wonderful de-
partment, and, as his speech was interlarded with
pauses and was slow and uttered in a bass voice,
he enjoyed universal respect. Not long before
the date of our story, " the good-for-nothing lit-
tle Order of St. Stanislas had been stuck on him,"
as those who envied him expressed it.

" That is perfectly just,"— remarked Skvore-
vitch.

" No one will dispute that,"— added Kinare-
vitch.

" I assent also,"— chimed in, in falsetto, from
a comer the master of the house, Mr. Finoplen-
toff.

^ The fifth (fit>m the top) of the fourteen grades in the Table oi
Ranks, instituted by Peter the Great, which were to be won by ser-
vice to the State.— Translator.

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"But I, I must confess, cannot assent, be-
cause something supernatural has happened to
me,"— said a man of medium stature and mid-
dle age, with a protruding abdomen and a
bald spot, who had been sitting silent before
the stove up to that moment. The glances
of all present in the room were turned upon
him with curiosity and surprise— and silence
reigned.

This man was a landed proprietor of Kaluga,
not wealthy, who had recently come to Peters-
burg. He had once served in the hussars, had
gambled away his property, resigned from the
service and settled down in the country. The re-
cent agricultural changes had cut off his reve-
nues, and he had betaken himself to the capital
in search of a snug little position. He possessed
no abilities, and had no influential connections;
but he placed great reliance on the friendship of
an old comrade in the service, who had suddenly,
without rhyme or reason, become a person of im-
portance, and whom he had once aided to ad-
minister a sound thrashing to a card-sharper.
Over and above that he counted upon his own
luck— and it had not betrayed him; several days
later he obtained the post of inspector of govern-
ment storehouses, a profitable, even honourable
position, which did not require extraordinary tal-
ents: the storehouses themselves existed only in
contemplation, and no one even knew with cer-

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THE DOG

tainty what they were to contain,— but they had
been devised as a measure of governmental econ-
omy.

Anton Stepanitch was the first to- break the
general silence.

" What, my dear sir? "—he began. " Do you
seriously assert that something supernatural— I
mean to say, incompatible with the laws of nature
—has happened to you? "

" I do,"— returned " my dear sir," whose real
name was Porfiry Kapitonitch.

" Incompatible with the laws of nature? "—
energetically repeated Anton Stepanitch, who ev-
idently liked that phrase.

" Precisely .... yes; precisely the sort of thing
you allude to."

" This is astonishing! What think you, gen-
tlemen? " — Anton Stepanitch endeavoured to
impart to his features an ironical expression, but
without result— or, to speak more accurately, the
only result was to produce the effect that Mr.
State Councillor smelt a bad odour.—" Will not
you be so kind, my dear sir,"— he went on, ad-
dressing the landed proprietor from Kaluga,—
" as to communicate to us the particulars of such a
curious event? "

" Why not? Certainly! "—replied the landed
proprietor, and moving forward to the middle
of the room in an easy manner, he spoke as fol-
lows:

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I HAVE, gentlemen, as you are probably aware,
—or as you may not be aware,— a small estate in
Kozyol County. ' I formerly derived some profit
from it— but now, of course, nothing but unplea-
santness is to be anticipated. However, let us
put politics aside! Well, sir, on that same estate
I have a "wee little" manor: a vegetable gar-
den, as is proper, a tiny pond with little carp,
and some sort of buildings— well, and a small
wing for my own sinful body. ... I am a bach-
elor. So, sir, one day— about six years ago— I
had returned home rather late ; I had been playing
cards at a neighbour's house— but I beg you to
observe, I was not tipsy, as the expression goes.
I undressed, got into bed, and blew out the light.
And just imagine, gentlemen; no sooner had I
blown out the light, than something began to
rummage under my bed! Is it a rat? I thought.
No, it was not a rat : it clawed and fidgeted and

scratched itself At last it began to flap its

ears!

It was a dog— that was clear. But where had
the dog come from? I keep none myself. " Can
some stray animal have run in? " I thought. I
called to my servant; his name is Fflka. The
man entered with a candle.

" What 's this,"— says I,—" my good Fflka?
How lax thou art! A dog has intruded himself
under my bed."

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"What dog?"— says he.

"How should I know?"— ^ys I;— "that's
thy affair— not to allow thy iiiaster to be dis-
turbed."

My Filka bent down, and began to pass the
candle about under the bed.

"Why,"— says he,— "there 's no dog here."

I bent down also; in fact there was no dog. . . .
Here was a marvel! I turned my eyes on Filka:
he was smiling.

" Fool,"— said I to him,—" what art thou grin-
ning about? When thou didst open the door the
dog probably took and sneaked out into the ante-
room. But thou, gaper, didst notice nothing,
because thou art eternally asleep. Can it be that
thou thinkest I am drunk? "

He attempted to reply, but I drove him out,
curled myself up in a ring, and heard nothing
more that night.

But on the following night— just imagine!—
the same thing was repeated. No sooner had I
blown out the light than it began to claw and flap
its ears. Again I summoned Filka, again he
looked under the bed— again nothing! I sent
him away, blew out the light,— phew, damn it!
there was the dog still. And a dog it certainly
was: I could hear it breathing and rummaging in
its hair with its teeth in search of fleas ... so
plainly!

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" Fflka! "— says I,— "come hither without a
light! "... He entered. ..." Well, now,"— says
I, "dost thou hear? . . ."

"I do,"— said he. I could not see him, but I
felt that the fellow was quailing.

" What dost thou make of it? "—said I.

" What dost thou command me to make of it,
Porfiry Kapitonitch? ... *T is an instigation of
the Evil One!"

" Thou art a lewd fellow ; hold thy tongue with
thy instigation of the Evil One." . . . But the
voices of both of us were like those of birds, and
we were shaking as though in a fever— in the
.darkness. I lighted a candle: there was no dog,
and no noise whatever— only Fflka and I as
white as clay. And I must inform you, gentle-
men—you can believe me or not— but from that
night forth for the space of six weeks the same
thing went on. At last I even got accustomed to
it and took to extinguishing my light because I
cannot sleep with a light. " Let him fidget! " I
thought. " It does n't harm me."

" But— I see— that you do not belong to the
cowardly squad," -^interrupted Anton Stepa-
nitch, with a half -scornful, half -condescending
laugh. " The hussar is immediately perceptible! "

" I should not be frightened at you, in any
case,"— said Porfiry Kapitonitch, and for a mo-
ment he really did look Uke a hussar.—" But lis-
ten further."

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A neighbour came to me, the same one with
i;vhom I was in the habit of playing cards. He
dined with me on what Gk)d had sent, and lost
fifty rubles to me for his visit; night was drawing
on — it was time for him to go. But I had cal-
culations of my own:—" Stop and spend the
night with me, Vasfly Vasflitch; to-morrow thou
wilt win it back, God willing."

My Vasfly Vasflitch pondered and pondered —
and stayed. I ordered a bed to be placed for
him in my own chamber. . . . Well, sir, we went
to bed, smoked, chattered,— chiefly about the fem-
inine sex, as is fitting in bachelor society,— and
laughed, as a matter of course. I look; Vasfly
Vasflitch has put out his candle and has turned
his back on me; that signifies: ^^Schlafen Sie
wohV I waited a little and extinguished my
candle also. And imagine: before I had time to
think to myself, " What sort of performance will
there be now? " my dear little animal began to
make a row. And that was not all; he crawled
out from imder the bed, walked across the room,
clattering his claws on the floor, waggling his
ears, and suddenly collided with a chair which
stood by the side of Vasfly Vasflitch's bed!

"Porfiry Kapitonitch,"— says Vasfly Vasf-
litch, and in such an indifferent voice, you know,
— " I did n*t know that thou hadst taken to keep-
ing a dog. What sort of an animal is it— a
setter?"

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" I have no dog,"— said I,—" and I never have
had one,"

"Thou hast not indeed! But what 's this? "

" What is this? "—said I-—" See here now;
light the candle and thou wilt find out for thy-
self/'

"It is n't a dog?"

"No."

Vasfly Vasilitch turned over in bed.— "But
thou art jesting, damn it? "

" No, I 'm not jesting."— I hear him go
scratch, scratch with a match, and that thing does
not stop, but scratches its side. The flame flashed
up ... . and basta! There was not a trace of a
dog! Vasfly Vasflitch stared at me— and I
stared at him.

" What sort of a trick is this? "—said he.

" Why,"— said I,—" this is such a trick that if
thou wert to set Socrates himself on one side and
Frederick the Great on the other even they
couldn't make head or tail of it."— And there-
upon I told him all in detail. Up jumped my
Vasfly Vasflitch as though he had been singed!
He could n't get into his boots.

" Horses! "-he yeUed-" horses! "

I began to argue with him, but in vain. He
simply groaned.

" I won't stay,"— he shouted,—" not a min-
ute!— Of course, after this, thou art a doomed
man!— Horses! . . . ."

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But I prevailed upon him. Only his bed was
dragged out into another room— and night-lights
were lighted everywhere. In the morning, at tea,
he recovered his dignity; he began to give me ad-
vice.

" Thou shouldst try absenting thyself from the
house for several days, Porfiry Kapitonitch," he
said: " perhaps that vile thing would leave thee."

But I must tell you that he— that neighbour
of mine— had a capacious mind! he worked his
mother-in-law so famously among other things:
he palmed off a note of hand on her; which sig-
nifies that he chose the most vulnerable moment I
She became like silk: she gave him a power of
attorney over all her property— what more would
you have? But that was a great affair— to twist
his mother-in-law round his finger— wasn't it,
hey? Judge for yourselves. But he went away
from me somewhat discontented; I had punished
him to the extent of another hundred rubles. He
even swore at me: " Thou art ungrateful,"— he
said, " thou hast no feeling; " but how was I to
blame for that? Well, this is in parenthesis —
but I took his suggestion under consideration.
That same day I drove off to town and estab-
lished myself in an inn, with an acquaintance, an
old man of the Old Ritualist sect.^

He was a worthy old man, although a trifle

1 Those who reject the official and necessary corrections made in ,
the Scriptures and Church service books in the reign of Peter the
Great's fether.— Transultob.

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barsh, because of loneliness: bis wbole family
were dead. Only be did not favour tobacco at
all,* and felt a great loatbing for dogs; I believe,
for example, tbat ratber tban admit a dog into
tbe room be would bave rent bimself in twain!
" For bow is it possible? "—be said. " Tbere in
my room, on tbe wall, tbe Sovereign Lady berself
deigns to dwell; ^ and sball a filtby dog tbrust bis
accursed snout in tbere? "—Tbat was ignorance,
of course! However, tbis is my opinion: if any
man bas been voucbsafed wisdom, let bim bold
to it!

" But you are a great pbilosopber, I see," — in-
terrupted Anton Stepanitcb again, witb tbe same
laugb as before.

Tbis time Porf fry Kapitonitcb even scowled.

"Wbat sort of a pbilosopber I am no one
knows,"— be said as bis moustacbe twitcbed in a
surly manner:—" but I would gladly take you as
a pupil."

We all fairly bored our eyes into Anton Ste-
panitcb; eacb one of us expected an arrogant re-
tort or at least a ligbtning glance. • . . But .Mr.
State Councillor altered bis smile from scorn to
indifference, tben yawned, dangled bis foot— and
tbat was all!

^ The Old Ritualists oppose tea, coffee, and tobacco, chiefly, it would
seem, because they are *' newfangled,** having come into use after
the schism. Later on they invented curious religious reasons for
their denunciation of these and of her things. — Translator.

2 The holy picture {ikSna) of the i^Iother of Christ.— Translator.

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So then, I settled down at that old man's
house— [went on Porfiry Kapitonitch].— He
assigned me a room " for acquaintance's " sake,—
not of the best; he himself lodged there also, be-
hind a partition— and that was all I required.
But what tortures I did undergo! The chamber
was small, it was hot, stifling, and there were
flies, and such sticky ones; in the corner was a re-
markably large case for images, with ancient holy
pictures; their garments were dim and puffed
out; the air was fairly infected with olive-oil,
and some sort of a spice in addition; on the bed-
stead were two down beds; if you moved a pil-
low, out ran a cockroach from beneath it. . . I
drank an incredible amount of tea, out of sheer
tedium— it was simply horrible! I got into bed;
it was impossible to sleep.- And on the other side
of the partition my host was sighing and grunt-
ing and reciting his prayers. I heard him begin
to snore— and very lightly and courteously, in
old-fashioned style. I had long since extin-
guished my candle— only the shrine-lamp was
twinkling in front of the holy pictures. ... A
hindrance, of course! So I took and rose up
softly, in my bare feet: I reached up to the lamp
and blew it out. . . . Nothing happened.—
"Aha!" I thought: "this means that he won't
make a fuss in the house of strangers." . . .
But no sooner had I lain down on the bed than
the row began again! The thing clawed, and

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scratched himself and flapped his ears • . • •
well, just as I wanted him to. Goodl I lay there
and waited to see what would happen. I heard
the old man wake up.

" Master/*— said he,—" hey there, master? "

" What *s wanted? *'— said I.

" Was it thou who didst put out the shrine-
lamp?"— And without awaiting my reply, he
suddenly began to mumble:

" What 's that? What 's that? A dog? A
dog? Akh, thou damned Nikonian! " *

" Wait a bit, old man,"— said I,—" before
thou cursest; but it would be better for thee to
come hither thyself. Things deserving of won-
der are going on here,"— said I.

The old man fussed about behind the partition
and entered my room with a candle, a slender
one, of yellow wax ; and I was amazed as I looked
at him! He was all bristling, with shaggy ears
and vicious eyes like those of a polecat; on his
head was a small skull-cap of white felt; his beard
reached to his girdle and was white also; and he
had on a waistcoat with brass buttons over his
shirt, and fur boots on his feet, and he dissemi-
nated an odour of juniper. In that condition he
went up to the holy pictures, crossed himself
thrice with two fingers ^ lighted the shrine-lamp,

1 The Old Ritualists* most opprobrious epithet, designating a mem-
ber of the State Church, which accepted the emendations instituted
by Patriarch Nikon referred to in a previous note. —Translator.

^ One of the hotly disputed points of difference between the Old

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crossed himself again, and turning to me, merely
grunted:

"Explain thyself!"

Thereupon, without the least delay, I conmiu-
nicated to him all the circumstances. The old
man listened to all my explanations without ut-
tering the smallest word; he simply kept shaking
his head. Then he sat down on my bed, still
maintaining silence. He scratched his breast, the
back of his head, and other places, and still re-
mained silent.

" Wen, Feodiil Ivanitch,"-said I, " what is
thy opinion: is this some sort of visitation of the
Evil One, thinkest thou ? "

The old man stared at me.— "A pretty thing
thou hast invented ! A visitation of the Evil One,
forsooth! 'T would be all right at thy house,
thou tobacco-user,— but *t is quite another thing
here! Only consider how many holy things there
are here! And thou must needs have a visita-
tion of the devil!— And if it is n't that, what
is it? "

The old man relapsed into silence, scratched
himself again, and at last he said, but in a dull
sort of way, because his moustache kept crawl-
ing into his mouth:

" Go thou to the town of Byeleff. There is
only one man who can help thee. And that man

Ritualists and the Aiembers of the State Church is in their manner of
crossing themselves. The latter use the forefinger, middle finger, and
thumb joined at the tips. —Translator.

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dwells in Byeleff ; * he is one of our people. If
he takes a fancy to help thee, that 's thy good
luck; if he does n't take a fancy, — so it must
remain/*

" But how am I to find him? ''—said I.

"We can give thee directions,"— said he;—
" only why dost thou call this a visitation of the
devil? 'T is a vision, or a sign; but thou wilt not
be able to comprehend it; 't is not within thy
flight. And now lie down and sleep under
Christ's protection, dear little father; I will fumi-
gate with incense; and in the morning we will
take counsel together. The morning is wiser than
the evening, thou knowest."

Well, sir, and we did take counsel together
in the morning— only I came near choking to
death with that same incense. And the old man
instructed me after this wise: that when I had
reached Byeleff I was to go to the public square,
and in the second shop on the right iilquire for a
certain Prokhoritch; and having found Prokho-
ritch, I was to hand him a document. And the
whole document consisted of a scrap of paper,
on which was written the. following: " In the
name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the
Holy Spirit, Amen. To Sergyei Prokhoritch
Pervushin. Trust this man. Feodiily Ivdno-
vitch." And below: " Send some cabbages, for
God's sake."

^ In the goverament of Tula, central Russia.— Trakslatob.

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I thanked the old man, and without further
ado ordered my tarantas to be harnessed, and set
off for Byeleff. For I argued in this way: ad-
mitting that my nocturnal visitor did not cause
me much grief, still, nevertheless, it was not quite
decorous for a nobleman and an officer— what do
you think about it?

" And did you really go to Byeleff? '*— whis-
pered Mr. Finoplentoff .

I did, straight to Byeleff. I went to the
square, and inquired in the second shop on the
right for Prokhoritch. " Is there such a man? "
— I asked.

" There is,"— I was told.

" And where does he live? '*

" On the Okd, beyond the vegetable-gardens."

" In whose house? " *

"His own."

I wended my way to the Oka, searched out his
house, that is to say, not actually a house, but a
downright hovel. I beheld a man in a patched
blue overcoat and a tattered cap,— of the petty
burgher class, judging by his appearance,—
standing with his back to me, and digging in
his cabbage-garden. — I went up to him.

" Are you such and such a one? "—said I.

^Formerly, houses were not numbered, and addresses ran: '*In
the house of * * * " (the proprietor, man or woman), often with
many complicated directions added to designate the special house.
These ancient addresses still remain, along with the numbers or
alone, especially on many of the houses in Moscow, and in country
towns. — Teanslatob.

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He turned round,— and to tell you the truth,
such piercing eyes I have never seen in all my life.
But his ^hole face was no bigger than one's fist;
his beard was wedge-shaped, and his lips v^re
sunken: he was an aged man.

" I am he,''— he said.—" What do you wanta? "

"Why, here,'— said I;— "this is what I
wanta,"— and I placed the docmnent in his hand.
He gazed at me very intently, and said:

" Please come into the house; I cannot read
without my spectacles."

Well, sir, he and I went into his kennel — actu-
ally, a regular kennel; poor, bare, crooked; it
barely held together. On the wall was a holy
picture of ancient work,* as black as a coal; only
the whites of the eyes were fairly burning in the
faces of the holy people. He took some round
iron spectacles from a small table, placed them
on his nose, perused the writing, and through his
spectacles again scrutinised me.

" You have need of me? "

" I have,"— said I,—" that 's the fact."

"Well,"— said he, "if you have, then make
your statement, and I will listen."

And just imagine; he sat down, and pulling a
checked handkerchief from his pocket, he spread
it out on his knees— and the handkerchief was
full of holes— and gazed at me as solenmly as

^ Old Ritualists will tolerate no others. Neither will they employ the
words *• buy " or " sell " in connection with these ikdnas; they say
** exchange.*'— Tbakslator.

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though he had been a senator,^ or some minister
or other; and did not ask me to sit down. And
what was still more astonishing, I suddenly felt
mysfelf growing timid, so timid .... simply, my
soul sank into my heels. He pierced me through
and through with his eyes, and that 's all there is
to be said! But I recovered my self-possession,
and narrated to him my whole story. He re- ^
mained silent for a while, shrank together, mowed
with his lips, and then began to interrogate me,
still as though he were a senator, so majestically
and without haste. " What is your name? **— he
asked. "How old are you? Who were your
parents? Are you a bachelor or married?"—
Then he began to mow with his lips again,
frowned, thrust out his finger and said:

" Do reverence to the holy image of the hon-
ourable saints of Solovetzk,^ Zosim and Sav-
vAty/'

I made a reverence to the earth, and did not
rise to my feet; such awe and submission did I
feel for that man that I believe I would have in-
stantly done anytiiing whatsoever he might have
ordered mel . . . . I see that you are smiling,
gentlemen; but I was in no mood for laughing
then, by Heaven I was not.

" Rise, sir,"— he said at last.—" It is possible
to help you. This has not been sent to you by

1 The Senate In Russia Is the Supreme Court of Appeals, and the
senators are appointed, not elected. — ^Translator.
* A famous monastery on an island in the White Sea.— Translator.

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way of punishment, but as a warning; it signifies
that you are being looked after; some one is pray-
ing earnestly for you. Go now to the bazaar and
buy yourself a bitch, which you must keep by
you day and night, without ceasing. Your visions
will cease, and your dog will prove necessary to
you into the bargain."

A flash of light seemed suddenly to illuminate
me; how those words did please mel I made obei-
sance to Prokhoritch, and was on the point of
departing, but remembered that it was impossible
for me not to show him my gratitude; I drew a
three-ruble note from my pocket. But he put
aside my hand and said to me:

" Give it to our chapel, or to the poor, for this
service is gratis."

Again I made him an obeisance, nearly to the
girdle, and immediately marched off to the ba-
zaar. And fancy, no sooner had I begun to ap-
proach the shops when behold, a man in a frieze
cloak advanced to meet me, and under his arm he
carried a setter bitch, two months old^ with light-
brown hair, a white muzzle, and white fore paws.

" Halt! " said I to the man in the frieze cloak;
" what will you take for her? " •

" Two rubles in silver.''

"Takethreel"

The man was astonished, and thought the gen-
tleman had lost his mind— but I threw a bank-
note in his teeth, seized the bitch in my arms, and

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rushed to my tarantas. The coachman harnessed
up the horses briskly, and that same evening I
was at home. The dog sat on my lap during the
whole journey— and never uttered a sound; but
I kept saying to her: " Tresorushkol Treso-
rushko I " I immediately gave her food and
water, ordered straw to be brought, put her to
bed, and dashed into bed myself. I blew out the
light; darkness reigned.

"Come now, begin!*'— said I.— Silence.—
" Do begin, thou thus and so! ''—Not a sound.
It was laughable. I began to take courage.—
" Come now, begin, thou thus and so, and 't other
thing!" But nothing happened— there was a
complete lull! The only thing to be heard was
the bitch breathing hard.

" Fflka! "-I shouted;-" Fflkal Come hither,
stupid man! "—He entered.— " Dost thou hear
the dog? "

" No, master,"— said he,—" I don't hear any-
thing,"— and began to laugh.

"And thou wilt not hear it again forever!
Here 's half a ruble for thee for vodka! "

" Please let me kiss your hand,"— said the fool,
and crawled to me in the dark. . . . My joy was
great, I can tell you!

" And was that the end of it all? "—asked An-
ton Stepanitch, no longer ironically.

The visions did cease, it is true— and there
were no disturbances of any sort— but wait, that

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was not the end of the whole matter. My Treso-
rushko began to grow, and turned out a cunning
rogue. Thick-tailed, heavy, flop-eared, with
drooping dewlaps, she was a regular " take-ad-
vance,*'— a thoroughgoing good setter. And
moreover, she became greatly attached to me.
Hunting is bad in our parts,— well, but as I had
set up a dog I had to supply myself with a gun
also. I began to roam about the surrounding
country with my Tresor; sometimes I would
knock over a hare (my heavens, how she did
course those hares!), and sometimes a quail or a
duck. But the chief point was that Tresor never,
never strayed a step away from me. Wherever I
went, there she went also; I even took her to the
bath with me— truly! One of our young gentle-
women undertook to eject me from her drawing-
room on account of Tresor; biit I raised such a
row that I smashed some of her window-panes!

Well, sir, one day— it happened in summer.
.... And I must tell you that there was such a
drought that no one could recall its like; the air
was full of something which was neither smoke
nor fog; there was an odour of burning, and mist,
and the sim was like a red-hot cannon-ball; and
the dust was such that one could not leave ofi^
sneezing! People went about with their mouths
gaping open, just like crows.

It bored me to sit at home constantly in com-
plete undress, behind closed shutters; and by the

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way, the heat was beginning to moderate. . . .
And so, gentlemen, I set off afoot to the house of
one of my neighbours- This neighbour of mine
lived about a verst from me,— and was really a
benevolent lady. She was still young and bloom-
ing, and of the most attractive exterior; only she
had a fickle disposition. But that is no detriment
in the feminine sex; it even affords pleasure. . . .
So, then, I trudged to her porch— and that trip
seemed very salt to me! Well, I thought, Nim-
fodora Semyonovna will regale me with bilberry-
water, and other refreshments— and I had al-
ready grasped the door-handle when, suddenly,
around the corner of the servants' cottage there
arose a trampling of feet, a squeaUng and shout-
ing of small boys. ... I looked round. O Lord,
my God! Straight toward me was dashing a
huge, reddish beast, which at first sight I did not
recognise as a dog; its jaws were gaping, its eyes
were blood-shot, its hair stood on end. . . . Be-
fore I could take breath the monster leaped upon
the porch, elevated itself on its hind legs, and fell
straight on my breast. What do you think of
that situation? I was swooning with fright, and
could not lift my arms; I was completely stupe-
fied; .... all I could see were the white tusks
right at the end of my nose, the red tongue all
swathed in foam. But at that moment another
dark body soared through the air in front of me,
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my rescue ; and she went at that beast's throat like
a leech! The beast rattled hoarsely in the throat,
gnashed its teeth, staggered back. . . . With one
jerk I tore open the door, and found myself in
the anteroom. I stood there, beside myself with
terror, threw my whole body against the lock, and
listened to a desperate battle which was in prog-
ress on the porch. I began to shout, to call for
help; every one in the house took alarm. Nim-
fodora Semyonovna ran up with hair unbraided;
voices clamoured in the courtyard— and suddenly
there came a cry: " Hold him, hold him, lock the
gate!"

I opened the door,— just a crack,— and looked.
The monster was no longer on the porch. People
were rushing in disorder about the courtyard,
flourishing their arms, picking up billets of wood
from the ground— just as though they had gone
mad. " To the village! It has run to the vil-
lage!" shrieked shrilly a peasant-woman in a
pointed coronet head-dress of unusual dimensions,
thrusting her head through a garret-window. I
emerged from the house.

" Where is Tresor? "—said I.— And at that
moment I caught sight of my saviom*. She was
walking away from the gate, limping, all bitten,
and covered with blood. . .

"But what was it, after all?"— I asked the
people, as they went circling round the court-
yard like crazy folk.

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" A mad dog! "—they answered me, " belong-
ing to the Count; it has been roving about here
since yesterday."

We had a neighbour, a Count; he had intro-
duced some very dreadful dogs from over-sea.
My knees gave way beneath me; I hastened
to the mirror and looked to see whether I had been
bitten. No ; God be thanked, nothing was visible ;
only, naturally, my face was all green; but Nim-
f odora Semyonovna was lying on the couch, and
clucking like a hen. And that was easily to be un-
derstood: in the &st place, nerves; in the second
place, sensibility. But she came to herself, and
asked me in a very languid way: was I alive? I
told her that I was, and that Tresor was my
saviour.

"Akh,"— said she,— "what nobility! And I
suppose the mad dog smothered her? "

" No,"— said I,—" it did not smother her, but
it wounded her seriously."

"Akh,"— said she,— "in that case, she must
be shot this very moment! "

"Nothing of the sort,"— said I;— "I won't
agree to that; I shall try to cure her." ....

In the meanwhile, Tresor began to scratch at
the door; I started to open it for her.

"Akh,"— cried she,— " what are you doing?
Why, she will bite us all dreadfully! "

" Pardon me,"— said I,—" the poison does not
take effect so soon."

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"Akh/'— said she,— "how is that possible?
Why, you have gone out of your uiind! *'

" Nimf6tehka,"-said I,-"cahn thyself; lis-
ten to reason. . . /'

But all at once she began to scream: " Go away;
go away this instant with your disgusting dog! "

" I will go,"-said I.

" Instantly,''— said she,— "this very secondl
Take thyself off, brigand,"— said she,— "and
don't dare ever to show yourself in my sight
again. Thou mightest go mad thyself I "

" Very good, ma'am,"— said I; " only give me
an equipage, for I am afraid to go home on foot
now."

She riveted her eyes on me. " Give, give him a
calash, a carriage, a drozhky, whatever he wants,
— anjiihing, for the sake of getting rid of him
as quickly as possible. Akh, what eyesl akh, what
eyes he has I "—And with these words she flew out
of the room, dealing a maid who was entering
a box on the ear,— and I heard her go off into
another fit of hysterics.— And you may believe
me or not, gentlemen, but from that day forth
I broke off all acquaintance with Nimfodora
Semyonovna; and, taking all things into mature
consideration, I cannot but add that for that cir-
cumstance also I owe my friend TresOT a debt of
gratitude until I lie down in my coffin.

Well, sir, I ordered a calash to be harnessed,
placed Tresor in it, and drove off home with her.

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At home I looked her over, washed her wounds,
and thought to myself: " I '11 take her to-morrow,
as soon as it is light, to the wizard in Efrem
County. Now this wizard was an old peasant,
a wonderful man; he would whisper over water
— but others say that he emitted serpents* venom
on it— and give it to you to drink, and your mal-
ady would instantly disappear. By the way, I
thought, I '11 get myself bled in Efremovo; 't is
a good remedy for terror; only, of course, not
from the arm, but from the bleeding-vein.

" But where is that place— the bleeding- vein? "
—inquired Finoplentoff, with bashful curiosity.

Don't you know? That spot on the fist close
to the thumb, on which one shakes snuff from
the horn.— Just here, see! 'T is the very best
place for blood-letting; therefore, judge for your-
selves; from the arm it will be venal blood, while
from this spot it is sparkling. The doctors don't
know that, and don't understand it; how should
they, the sluggards, the dumb idiots? Black-
smiths chiefly make use of it. And what skil-
ful fellows they are! They '11 place their chisel
on the spot, give it a whack with their hammer—
and the deed is done! .... Well, sir, while I
was meditating in this wise, it had grown entirely
dark out of doors, and it was time to go to sleep.
I lay down on my bed, and Tresor, of course, was
there also. But whether it was because of my
fright or of the stifling heat, or because the fleas

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or my thoughts were bothersome, at any rate, I
could not get to sleep. Such distress fell upon
me as it is impossible to describe; and I kept
drinking water, and opening the window, and
thrumming the " Kamarynskaya " * on the guitar,
with Italian variations. ... In vain! I felt
impelled to leave the room,— and that 's all there
was to it. At last I made up my mind. I took a
pillow, a coveriet, and a sheet, and wended my
way across the garden to the hay-barn; well, and
there I settled myself. And there things were
agreeable to me, gentlemen; the night was still,
extremely still, only now and then a breeze as \
soft as a woman's hand would blow across my j
cheek, and it was very cool; the hay was fragrant I
as tea, the katydids were rasping in the apple-
trees; then suddenly a quail would emit its call—
and you would feel that he was taking his ease,
the scamp, sitting in the dew with his mate. . . .
And the sky was so magnificent; the stars were
twinkling, and sometimes a little cloud, as white
as wadding, would float past, and even it would |
hardly stir. ... 1

At this point in the narrative, Skvorevitch
sneezed; Kinarevitch, who never lagged behind
his comrade in anything, sneezed also. Anton
Stepanitch cast a glance of approbation at both.

Well, sir— [went on Porfiry Kapitonitch],— j

1 A vivacious and favourite popular dance-tune. It is several centuries j
old, and of interesting historical origin.— Translator. I

850 1

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so I lay there, and still I could not get to sleep.
A fit of meditation had seized upon me; and I
pondered chiefly over the great marvel, how that
Prokhoritch had rightly explained to me about
the warning— and why such wonders should hap-
pen to me in particular. ... I was astonished,
in fact, because I could not understand it at all
— while Tresorushko whimpered as she curled
herself up on the hay; her wounds were paining
her. And I '11 tell you another thing that kept
me from sleeping— you wiU hardly believe it; the
moon! It stood right in front of me, so roimd
and big and yellow and flat; and it seemed to me
as though it were staring at me — by Heaven it
did; and so arrogantly, importunately. ... At last
I stuck my tongue out at it, I really did. Come,
I thought, what art thou so curious about? I
turned away from it; but it crawled into my ear,
it illuminated the back of my head, and flooded
me as though with rain; I opened my eyes, and
what did I see? It made every blade of grass,
every wretched little blade in the hay, the
most insignificant spider's web, stand out dis-
tinctly! " Well, look, then! " said I. There was
no help for it. I propped my head on my hand
and began to stare at it. But I could not keep it
up ; if you will believe it, my eyes began to stick
out like a hare's and to open very wide indeed,
just as though they did not know what sleep was
like. I think I could have eaten up ever3rthing

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with those same eyes- The gate of the hay-bam
stood wide open; I could see for a distance of five
versts out on the plain; and distinctly, not in the
usual way on a moonlight night. So I gazed and
gazed, and did not even wink. . . . And sud-
denly it seemed to me as though something were
waving about far, far away .... exactly as
though things were glimmering indistinctly be-
fore my eyes. Some time elapsed ; again a shadow
leaped across my vision,— a little nearer now;
then again, still nearer. What is it? I thought.
Can it be a hare? No, I thought, it is larger tiban
a hare, and its gait is unlike that of a hare. I
continued to look, and again the shadow showed
itself, and it was moving now across the pasture-
land (and the pasture-land was whitish from the
moonlight) like a very large spot; it was plain
that it was some sort of a wild beast— a fox or
a wolf. My heart contracted within me ....
but what was I afraid of, after all? Are n't there
plenty of wild animals running about the fields
by night? But my curiosity was stronger than
my fears; I rose up, opened my eyes very wide,
and suddenly turned cold all over. I fairly
froze rigid on the spot, as though I had been
buried in ice up to my ears ; and why? The Lord
only knows! And I saw the shadow growing
bigger and bigger, which meant that it was mak-
ing straight for the hay-barn. . . . And then it
became apparent to me that it really was a large,

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big-headed wild beast. • * . It dashed onward
like a whirlwind, like a bullet. ... Grood heav-
ens! What was it? Suddenly it stopped short,
as though it scented something. . . . Why,
it was the mad dog I had encountered that day!
'T was he, 't was he! O Lord! And I could not
stir a finger, I could not shout. ... It ran to the
gate, glared about with its eyes, emitted a howl,
and dashed straight for me on the hay!

But out of the hay, like a lion, sprang my Tre-
sor; and then the struggle began. The two
clinched jaw to jaw, and rolled over the groimd
in a ball! What took place further I do not re-
member; all I do remember is that I flew head
over heels across them, just as I was, into the
garden, into the house, and into my own bed-
room! .... I almost dived under the bed-
there *s no use in concealing the fact. And what
leaps, what bounds I made in the garden! You
would have taken me for the leading ballerina
who dances before the Emperor Napoleon on the
day of his Angel— and even she could n't have
overtaken me. But when I had recovered myself
a little, I immediately routed out the entire house-
hold; I ordered them all to arm themselves, and
I myself took a sword and a revolver. (I must
confess that I had purchased that revolver after
the Emancipation, in case of need, you know-
only I had hit upon such a beast of a pedlar that
out of three charges two inevitably missed fire.)

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Well, sir, I took all this, and in this guise we sal-
lied forth, in a regular horde, with staves and
lanterns, and directed our footsteps toward the
hay-bam. We reached it and called — nothing
was to be heard; we entered the bam at last.
.... And what did we see? My poor Treso-
rushko lay dead, with her throat slit, and that ac-
cursed beast had vanished without leaving a trace !

Then, gentlemen, I began to bleat like a calf,
and I will say it without shame ; I fell down on the
body of my twofold rescuer, so to speak, and
kissed her head for a long time. And there I
remained in that attitude until my old house-
keeper, Praskovya, brought me to my senses (she
also had run out at the uproar) .

" Why do you grieve so over the dog, Porfiry
Stepanitch? "—sard she. " You will surely catch
cold, which Gtod forbid!" (I was very lightly
clad.) "And if that dog lost her life in saving
you, she ought to reckon it as a great favour! "

Although I did not agree with Praskovya, I
went back to the house. And the mad dog was
shot on the following day by a soldier from the
garrison. And it must have been that that was
the end appointed by Fate to the dog, for the
soldier fired a gun for the first time in his life,
although he had a medal for service in the year
'12. So that is the supernatural occurrence which
happened to me.

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HE narrator ceased speaking and began to fill
s pipe. But we all exchanged glances of sur-
rise,

" But perhaps you lead a very upright life,"
-began Mr, Finoplentoff,— " and so by way of
;ward . • . . " But at that word he faltered,
)r he saw that Porf iry Kapitonitch's cheeks were
^ginning to swell out and turn red, and his eyes
K) were beginning to pucker up — evidently the
tan was on the point of breaking out. . . .

*' But admitting the possibility of the super-
atural, the possibility of its interference in
T-eryday life, so to speak," — began Anton Ste-
anitch :— " then what role, after this, must sound
jnse play? "

None of us found any answer, and, as before,
e remained perplexed.

355

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THE UNIVERSITY OF fAICHIGAN

3.1YQi

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1993

JAN 51 '99t

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3 9015 00864 0982

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